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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387646">Cons and Pros</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley'>William_Easley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, ComicsCon, Convention, F/M, Family, comic books, tv cartoons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:27:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>June 2018: The cartoon series based on Dipper Pines's novels, written under the pen name Stan Mason, is about to debut at ComicsCon, and Stan Mason is to be a VIP guest! He'll see the premiere episode of the show, meet the director, writers, and cast, um . . . serve on panels and, um . . . autograph his books and meet the public in person. Stan Mason will do all this if only Dipper Pines can control his nerves.  Complete in 10 chapters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mabel Pines/Teek O'Grady (OC), Wendy Corduroy/Dipper Pines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue and Flight of Fancy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I do not own the show Gravity Falls or any of the characters. They are the property of the Walt Disney Company and of the show's creator, Alex Hirsch. I earn no money from writing my fanfictions; I do them out of love for the show, for practice writing, and to amuse myself and, I hope, other readers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>By William Easley</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 19-24, 2018)</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Prologue: Excerpts from a Letter</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Beatrice Bergeron</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bergeron Literary Representatives, Inc</em>
</p><p>
  <em>2122 6</em>
  <em>th</em>
  <em> Ave Suite 12</em>
</p><p>
  <em>New York NY 10021</em>
</p><p>
  <em>May 30, 2018</em>
</p><p>
  <em>To: Mason Pines</em>
</p><p>
  <em>C/O The Mystery Shack</em>
</p><p>
  <em>618 Gopher Road</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gravity Falls, OR 97618</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Dipper,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I just wrapped up everything with Brangwen and Jan Maryk. This is your packet for the San Diego ComicsCon. You'll find airline vouchers for yourself, your sister, your wife, and your photographer included. At least 48 hours before the trip, check in online to retrieve your tickets. Brangwen Books was very generous! Be sure to thank Jan when she meets you there. Wish I could be there, too! You and Wendy have to come to NYC to meet me in person soon.</em>
</p><p><em>Also I've included your convention materials. You'll be taken to the VIP check-in room in the convention center on the afternoon of June 20</em><em>th</em><em>. They close shop at seven, but that should give you plenty of time. Just present them with these documents and they'll issue your convention IDs, schedules, maps, etc. I see they have you down for a panel on Friday at 2:00 PM with the head writer, director, and two of the voice talents from the </em>GRANITE RAPIDS <em>cartoon show. Be polite, be generous with your praise of the project, and above all, be energetic!</em></p><p>
  <em>Following the panel, you'll be autographing books (they'll show you where the autograph center is). Jan has shipped 120 copies of each published title to the convention center already, and her staff will take care of sales and will see that you're kept supplied. Plenty of the visitors will bring their own copies. Don't get writer's cramp!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You have another panel on Saturday at 11:00 AM, this one with the show director and two writers. Same general rules apply. Then lunch, and then at 2:00 PM again, another autograph session. This time a few of the voice cast will be at adjoining tables. This one's set to run 90 minutes. Hang in there!</em>
</p><p><em>And, yes, another panel, actually the grand premiere of the first episode of </em>GRANITE RAPIDS <em>in the BIG theater at 7:00 PM on Saturday. After the showing there'll be a panel Q&amp;A and they want you to sit in on that. IF you agree and IF you feel up to it, there will be a 45-minute meet-the-public-and-autograph session at 8:00 in the adjoining room. Jan will take care of sales, but most of these will be fans with their own copies. The showing and autograph session will be repeated on Sunday at 11:00 AM through to 12:45 PM. Outside of these, your time's your own.</em></p><p>
  <em>Your hotel reservation information is included in the packet. Two rooms, as requested, on the "quiet floor," where late-night parties aren't permitted. You have four vouchers for breakfast in the hotel each morning Friday-Sunday. No limit. Finally, there's a special Uber card that will let you catch a ride should you need one to, well, anywhere within reason. You're not supposed to tip the drivers. . . . .</em>
</p><p>(Two detailed pages omitted)</p><p>
  <em>Sweetie, have lots of fun and enjoy being Stan Mason. Fair warning: Your picture will be out there, up on the Internet for all to see, which just might interfere with your anonymity. But, hey, it's time! The week after, and after you've recovered, give me a call and tell me all about it. I'm clearing my schedule for 4:00 and later on the Wednesday following the convention just for that!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Warmest wishes,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bea</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>1-Flight of Fancy</strong>
</p><p>By Tuesday, June 19th, everyone had more or less recovered from Stan's and Ford's birthday celebration, which took a totally unexpected turn because of an unexpected and certainly uninvited guest, but let's not worry about that right now. Mabel, Dipper, Wendy, and Teek were back working in the Shack that summer, just as they had for a good many years past—Wendy was, for the summer months at least, Manager, Dipper was Chief of Sales, Mabel was Assistant Manager and Guru of Planning, and Teek was Master Chef.</p><p>Don't blame me, Soos made up the job titles.</p><p>Anyway, even that early in the season business had become steady, so much so that on Tuesday afternoon Dipper asked, worriedly, "Guys, tell me the truth. Is it going to be OK for us to be away for so long?"</p><p>Stan, relaxing on the back porch, snorted. "Ha! What, you think you guys are indispensable or something? For two of the five days you're away, the Shack ain't even open. We'll take care of business. No sweat!"</p><p>On the sofa beside Stan, Soos chuckled. "Yeah, dawg! Me and Melody and Mr. Pines got it covered. The ladies will pitch in. Mrs. Pines will handle the cash register, Mrs. Dr. Pines will cover the register for the snack bar, Abuelita will cook. This is a big deal for you, Dipper. Anyhow, Gideon and Ulva help out a lot for four hours every day. Go and be, like, a famous author!"</p><p>"Anyways," Stan added as he stretched, "if you<em> don't</em> go, you're gonna owe your publisher like a couple thousand bucks for the plane tickets. Come on, it was nice of 'em to pony up so you guys could—ugh—fly first-class. Me, I hate flyin', but if I gotta do it, first class is the way to go! It's more comfortable, the food's better, and if you crash, you die first, so there's not as much time to worry."</p><p>"That's reassuring," Dipper said. True, Brangwen Books had unexpectedly been more than generous, arranging four first-class round-trip tickets from Portland to San Diego, via Coastal Connections Airline, a nice carrier. The four of them would take off tomorrow at two o'clock from PDX and land at SAN at 4:45. Jan Maryk, his editor at Brangwen, said she would meet them at the airport for the limo ride—limo ride!—to their hotel. According to her, she was dying to meet the young writer.</p><p>Dipper—wasn't so sure. This was a first. He'd never really appeared in public as his alter ego Stan Mason, writer of YA books set in an imaginary North California town that somehow was much like Gravity Falls, Oregon. Oh, he had answered fan letters forwarded to him by the publisher, and three times now he'd been interviewed, only once by Skype, twice just by Q&amp;A emails, but never had he appeared before a group of people as the author of the series that now was a cartoon show.</p><p>The prospect didn't exactly scare him, but it certainly made him anxious. <em>I couldn't have handled this even a year ago. But with my freshman year of college behind me—I can do this! Uh, probably. Possibly.</em></p><p>Shame to be so edgy on such a nice day—perfect summer weather, about 82 degrees, clear blue sky, light breeze from the west, the refreshing piney scent of the forest surrounding him. He was sitting on the edge of the family porch. Ahead of him was the familiar chopping block where, at the age of twelve, he had learned how to cut firewood. Well, not literally familiar—the stump that served as the block had been changed twice since then. Chopping blocks tended to get mauled into shapelessness. But the replacement looked the same as the first one, it was in the same place, and the same axe was lodged in it.</p><p>"What are you so fascinated by?" Stan asked from behind him. "Firewood? Relax, you don't gotta chop any. That can wait until August, when Soos needs a good supply to get the Shack through the winter!"</p><p>"At least I'm able to chop it these days," Dipper said. "That first summer—"</p><p>"Noodle arms, I remember," Stan said with a grin. "But you kept at it, you learned, and you even got adequate. I'm semi-proud of you."</p><p>Dipper couldn't help returning his grunkle's grin. Coming from Stan, that was high praise.</p><p>Then he went back to musing. Jan Maryk he knew as words on his computer screen, a signature on his book contracts, and about twice a year a voice on the phone. He hoped she'd be as nice in person as she was long-distance. But what if he disappointed her? What if she said, "I didn't think you'd be so skinny!" or "Shave the goatee before you show up for the panels tomorrow." What then?</p><p>Because even now, he wasn't really sure if he was pulling off the goatee. It was discreet, not long and bushy, just a chin-beard with a small soul patch. Mabel had carefully shaped it and trimmed it, Wendy nodded and said, "Very mature, dude," and in bed she tickled his chin with her fingers and murmured, "I never kissed a guy with a beard."</p><p>"Your dad," he suggested. Manly Dan had an epic beard.</p><p>"Not the way I kiss you," Wendy teased.</p><p>"That's a relief!"</p><p>But looking at himself in the mirror, he didn't really see a manly young fellow. He saw a dork with a little beard.</p><p>However, Mabel, who had urged him to grow it because the one time before he'd grown a beard people had pegged him at three years older than he had been then. Of course, that was a full beard. Or at least whiskers that shaded his cheeks and chin, not a neatly trimmed, proper goatee.</p><p>Heck with it. He'd see what Jan's reaction was. If she thought he looked presentable enough, the plan was for the next book (<em>Sleepover of Horror) </em>to have his photo on the back jacket. So far, he'd been only a mysterious shadowed silhouette.</p><p>As his agent had said, it was time for Stan Mason to appear in public.</p><p>If only Dipper Pines didn't lose his nerve.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Flying High</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(May 20, 2018)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>2-Flying High</strong>
</p><p>After once having the Green Machine stolen while she and Dipper were visiting Portland—and then retrieving it from an unpleasant band of car thieves—Wendy was understandably antsy about leaving any of their cars in the Portland airport parking facilities for five nights. Fortunately, Grunkle Stan volunteered to drive them over in the Stanleymobile, a classic El Diablo with enough room for the four travelers, their luggage, and probably a small marching band, if you left out the tuba.</p><p>Mabel said a tearful goodbye to Tripper, who seemed impatient to get back to his game of toss-the-ball with Little Soos, and she promised not to forget him but to bring him a doggie t-r-e-a-t (no good, he could spell up to six-letter words) of some kind when she returned. He licked her face, picked up his ball, and raced to a laughing Little Soos.</p><p>Wednesdays were not high-traffic days at the Shack, so they could get along without Stan for a few hours, though he promised he'd be back around noon or later to play Mr. Mystery. Stanford was away in Washington, D.C, where he was wrapping up a two-day meeting of the Guys in Black, as the Agency he headed was familiarly called. It wasn't an emergency, just the normal fiscal year wrap-up and planning sessions. Still, he had face-timed Dipper and had expressed his regret that he wouldn't be there to see them off. "We may cross paths in the airport, though," he said. "We're flying back about the same time you four are flying out. Ah, I envy you, Mason."</p><p>"Uh, because of the TV series?" Dipper asked. That didn't seem like Ford's kind of thing.</p><p>Ford chuckled. "No, no, but because in my youth I was quite the SF fan. Never call it 'sci-fi,' by the way."</p><p>Dipper smiled. "Oh? Why not?"</p><p>"Well, unless times have changed more radically than I think, the true science-fiction fans refer to their fandom as 'SF.' 'Sci-Fi' was coined by Forrest J. Ackerman—you know who he was, do you not?"</p><p>"I . . . can't say that I do," Dipper admitted.</p><p>"Ah, well, Forry Ackerman, as he was called, was an old-time SF fan—a member of First Fandom, in fact, an attendee at the first World Science Fiction Convention in 1939 and a guest at the first ComicsCon in 1970. He was also a writer, a literary agent, an editor, and a popular guest at conventions. He edited a wonderful magazine for young fans, <em>Famous Monsters of Filmland, </em>published from 1958 through 1983. In fact, I have a complete run of every issue in storage. I'll dig them up and present them to you. You're a little past the average readership age, but knowing how you like old horror films, I think you'll enjoy them. Where was I? Oh, yes, Forry Ackerman made up the term 'sci-fi' in imitation of 'hi-fi.' It was popular, but core fans see sci-fi as something superficial and rather childish, and SF is the real stuff."</p><p>"I will remember that," Dipper promised.</p><p>Ford sighed. "Alas, I'm over the hill now, but attending ComicsCon was one of the things I would have loved to do as a teen—or even a young adult. I rather envy you this trip!"</p><p>"You're still not too old," Dipper said. "I've seen the guest list. Some of those guys are in their eighties!"</p><p>"I'd be afraid to attend now for fear the thrill is gone. Did I ever tell you that I once visited Forry Ackerman? Oh, well, that's beside the point, I'll tell you some day. Right now, what I want to say is have a pleasant journey, and I wish you all success in your first big public appearance. You can do it. You're a Pines!"</p><p>Maybe so, but that morning right after breakfast, as they piled into Stan's car, Dipper felt more like a quaking aspen. Excited and apprehensive, all at once, and maybe not physically trembling, but feeling that way inside.</p><p>They made good time, Grunkle Stan dropped them off and helped unload their luggage—all carry-ons, plus personal items, backpacks for Teek and Dipper, roomy purses for Wendy and Mabel—and he wished them a good flight without any crashes or hijackings.</p><p>Then it was into the airport. They had printed out their boarding passes the day before, so they headed straight toward Security. "I hope we're on time," Mabel fretted.</p><p>Teek, who looked as laid-back as Dipper wished he felt himself, said, "We've got over two hours. OK, Concourse C, right?"</p><p>That was right. Naturally, their plan was boarding from C-24, the furthest possible gate from the Security checkpoint. "Man, this sucks," Mabel complained, trundling her pink carry-on bag along like a grumbling poodle.</p><p>"It's not so bad," Wendy said. "Just a stroll."</p><p>"Yeah, you guys run every morning, so you wouldn't mind it."</p><p>"You're welcome to join us," Dipper said.</p><p>"That means getting up before my Mabel clock goes off," she said. "Whoof!"</p><p>"We don't have to run," Teek pointed out. "Anyhow, I hope you packed good walking shoes. I've read about that convention center, and it's like a quarter-mile hike from one end to the other. We'll do lots of walking."</p><p>"Dudes, that's us," Wendy said, pointing. They'd come to the end of the concourse and to their gate, but it was too early to check in, so first they made their way back to a concessions area for a light lunch—salads and sandwiches—and then they returned to the gate and found some comfortable seats and settled in to wait. Well, two of them did. Mabel led Teek off in search of snacks, since it had been over ten minutes since her last meal.</p><p>But they were back—Mabel offering a churro that no one wanted, so she ate it herself—forty minutes before their plane was due to take off. When the gate agent called for boarding, they got to go on right after those passengers who needed wheelchairs or special help, and thanks to Mabel's broken-field hustling technique, they were the first four passengers in First Class.</p><p>Nice. The overhead bins were roomy, the seats were oversized, and they had plenty of leg room. Dipper was in Seat 1A, Wendy in 1B, Mabel in 1C, and Teek in 1D. Each seat had a ten-inch TV screen, which currently showed only the Coastal Connections logo, though Mabel tried hard to change the channel. Before long, she got bored and complained, "Why are these people so slow?"</p><p>Well, Dipper could have said, but didn't say, because they're not flying first-class. They shuffled back about as fast as they could, what with people further back pausing to heft their carry-on bags into the bins.</p><p>Eventually, though, everyone was seated, the doors closed, and the airliner backed away from the gate and rumbled over to the taxiway and runway. At precisely their ETD, the pilot revved the engines, the plane started to roll and accelerated, and then the nose tipped up and the tail tipped down and the ground fell away.</p><p>They did a wide bank to orient the plane to its southerly course, and Dipper could see Mount Hood and the Cascades off to his left, blued by distance. After some smooth climbing, the pilot, who like all pilots sounded like he was from the Deep South, said, "Well, folks, welcome aboard Coastal Connections Flight 618 for San Diego International Airport. Our estimated time in the air is two hours and twenty minutes, but we may shave a little bit off that if the winds are right. We'll be flying at an altitude of 36,000 feet, and it looks like we're gonna give you all a smooth trip, with no turbulence expected."</p><p>And he was right, except for Mabel, who got a little carried away with the snack service—first-class passengers had more generous portions and a wider selection—and about an hour away from San Diego, she had to reach for her first airsickness bag. Par for the course.</p><p>However, it really was a smooth flight, and that one was the only bag she needed, a record low for Mabel. When the attendant, her smile frozen and her eyes rather glassy, kindly collected the sealed bag, Mabel wiped her mouth on a freshen-up wipe the lady had given her and said, "I really like your airline. The others have skimpy barf bags, but not Coastal Connections! I'm gonna give you a four-star review just for that!"</p><p>The whole way, Mabel channel-surfed the little personal TV, never spending more than two minutes on any movie or program. Wendy napped. Dipper kept his screen on the little animated map that showed them getting closer and closer to their destination.</p><p>As the pilot had said, they arrived a little bit early—they were due for touchdown at 4:45 PM, but the tires hit the tarmac at 4:39—and as soon as the pilot said they were taxiing to Gate 37 and cellphones were OK to use now, Dipper called the number that his agent, Bea Bergeron, had given to him as a contact with his publisher, Brangwen Books.</p><p>"Hello?" a female voice chirped.</p><p>"Hi," Dipper said. "Uh, I'm Dipper, I mean Mason Pines, uh. I write under the name of—"</p><p>"Stan X. Mason," the voice said. "Are you in San Diego?"</p><p>"Kind of," he said. "The airport, anyway. Our plane's pulling into the gate now. Um, I was given this number for Jan Maryk, my editor—"</p><p>"I'm Jan's assistant Amy Barrows," the voice said. "I'm at the airport now. Gate 37, right?"</p><p>"Right," Dipper said.</p><p>"OK, do you have luggage to retrieve?"</p><p>"No, we made do with carry-ons."</p><p>"Great! So when you leave the jetway, you're gonna turn left and follow the signs to the Skybridge. I'll meet you there and take you down to where the limo will pick us up. If you miss me, give me a call. Hang on near the down escalator on the Skybridge, OK?"</p><p>"OK. Uh, there are four of us." He briefly described Teek, Mabel, Wendy, and himself.</p><p>Amy Barrows sounded reassuring. "Don't worry, I won't have to recognize you. You'll recognize me."</p><p>Sure enough, about a half-hour later as the four of them made their way down the concourse—crowded here—they followed the signs to the Skybridge and, just before they got to it, Dipper grinned with relief. Ahead, off to the left, a trim, twenty-some-year-old African-American woman in a blue slacks suit stood holding up <em>Bride of the Zombie </em>and <em>It Lurked in the Lake, </em>Dipper's first two published novels.</p><p>"You are Mason Pines," Amy said. "I know it from the grin. Is this Mrs. Pines?"</p><p>"Nope," Mabel said. "That would be illegal in at least forty-nine states. I'm his twin sister, Mabel! This is his wife, Wendy Corduroy-Pines, and this is my fiancée, the lucky guy, T.K. O'Grady, but he prefers 'Teek,' 'cause I gave him that name."</p><p>"I'm Amy Barrows, just Amy, OK? And I'm so pleased to meet you all. We'll chat in the limo. This way, guys! Ever been to ComicsCon before?"</p><p>"No," Teek said. "But we've dreamed about it."</p><p>Amy laughed. "Well, Teek—your dreams are about to come true!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. VIP</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 20, 2018)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>3-VIP</strong>
</p><p>"Cool," Wendy said as a long black limousine pulled up in the passenger pick-up area of the airport. "A new Demeter XLS. Sweet!"</p><p>"That's for us?" Mabel asked as the driver got out—he wore an actual uniform, light gray with a visored cap.</p><p>He looked about sixty, with a trim gray mustache and bushy eyebrows. He opened the door and gestured them in, saying, "I will take care of all your luggage."</p><p>"Now," Mabel said as they entered the seating area—two bench seats, facing each other, in black leather—"this is Mabel style!"</p><p>Amy Barrows got in last of all and said, "Seat belts."</p><p>But they'd already buckled up.</p><p>"Jan will meet us at the convention center," the assistant went on. "She'll take Mason—or do you prefer Dipper?"</p><p>"Dipper," he said. "Everybody calls me Dipper."</p><p>"Like Tripper in your books," Amy said with a nod.</p><p>"We named the dog Tripper!" Mabel exclaimed. "He loves that dog."</p><p>"True," Dipper said. "We kind of got adopted by a smart dog, and Mabel decided to call him Tripper, so—uh, have you read my books?"</p><p>"Oh, hon," Amy said, "I get to read them before they're published! I think they're great, very funny."</p><p>The driver shut the door, got behind the wheel, and genially announced, "Next stop, Hardling Hotel."</p><p>They settled back, Mabel sniffing. Amy asked, "Hon, do you need a tissue?"</p><p>Blinking, Mabel said, "Oh, I don't have a cold. I'm just hauling in nosefuls of new-car smell. It's great! Is there a restaurant close to the hotel?"</p><p>"Oh, don't worry about that," the assistant said, smiling. "Jan's taking you guys and another writer out tonight for dinner. Seven o'clock, meet in the hotel lobby, and the driver will take you to a place I guarantee you'll like."</p><p>"Seven?" Mabel asked. "Well—maybe there's a snack bar to tide us over."</p><p>"Bunches of them in the convention center," she said. "Here's the plan: We get you guys checked into your rooms, I'll wait and then walk you to the convention, and I'll help you get your badges and swag bags. Then I've got other stuff to do, but you'll be fine on your own. Just be back in the hotel before 6:45."</p><p>"How far's the walk?" Teek asked.</p><p>"Three minutes, if that. When you exit the front door of the hotel, you'll see the convention center just across Harbor Drive. If you want to go explore Old Town, there's a trolley stop where you can hop on for trips around town. You each have a special four-day trolley pass that should be at the desk when you check in."</p><p>Dipper and Wendy were holding hands and gazing out the tinted windows. Dipper thought to her, —<em>This looks a lot like that time when we went into the weird dimension chasing those ghosts.</em></p><p>
  <em>I was thinking the same thing, Dip. Pretty view.</em>
</p><p>Their route passed marinas off to the right, crowded with sailboats and cabin cruisers, and farther out, U.S. Navy ships. They had actually snuck aboard one of these in the other dimension, because that dimension's version of Fiddleford McGucket was camped out there, at the orders of some intelligence operation akin to their GIB, to monitor a potential rip in the fabric of space and time. They had to persuade him to—oh, if you haven't, go find the story called "The Big Con." I can't summarize everything.</p><p>
  <em>-Look, the Convention Center, just ahead!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wow. Yeah, looks very familiar!</em>
</p><p>"That's it!" Teek said at the same time. "Mabel, that's—"</p><p>"Ooh, cool! And I've already counted fourteen restaurants!"</p><p>"The Hardling Gaslamp," the driver announced. "You folks go get registered and I'll take care of the baggage." He stopped under the portico of a tall hotel.</p><p>Before he could open the door, Dipper nervously asked Amy Barrows, "Do, uh, I tip—"</p><p>"Already taken care of," she said cheerfully.</p><p>The driver opened the door for them, they climbed out, and Mabel looked around. "Wow-wow-wowee! It's gonna be so handy! Man, look at all the people!"</p><p>Throngs of fans, many wearing costumes, were milling and mingling along the front of the Convention Center. "It's a circus," Amy said. "This way."</p><p>The hotel lobby was crammed, too—people checking in, shouted greetings, loud chatter, laughter, long lines at the desk—but Amy took them around to a separate check-in desk inside a room off to the left. "Special VIP service," she said with a grin.</p><p>An Asian woman checked them in with crisp efficiency, gave them four room keys, two for 2201, two for 2203, and wished them a pleasant stay. She also gave Dipper a fat white 9x14 envelope. Amy said, "I'll show them to the express elevator."</p><p>She led them down a hall past men's and women's rooms, around a corner, and into a niche where two elevators waited. "These go to the twenty-second and twenty-third floors," she explained. "They're the concierge level. I'm riding up with you—Jan and I are in room 2250, at the far end of the hall from you guys—and when you're ready to go to the convention, just call me and I'll walk you over."</p><p>"No buttons!" Mabel said. "How do we-?"</p><p>"Your room key, here," Amy said, demonstrating how a tap of the key card on a flat round pad between the two elevators summoned their ride up.</p><p>It was a bit like taking off in an airplane. The roomy elevator shot straight from Ground Floor to the twenty-second in what felt like five seconds, the doors opened, and there they were. Rooms 2201 and 2203 both had windows overlooking the convention center and beyond it, the bay. To Dipper's surprise, his and Wendy's luggage waited for them, along with a welcome basket from Brangwen Books—snacks, including crackers, cheeses, beef jerky, chocolates, peppermint sticks, a couple of oranges, and some hard candies. And a bottle of champagne nested in an ice bucket.</p><p>The bed was a California king-sized number, there was a separate sitting area with a loveseat and an armchair, and a fridge, a microwave, a wall-mounted TV—</p><p>"I could get used to this," Wendy said.</p><p>"I'm not sure I could," Dipper confessed.</p><p>Someone knocked on the door that opened to Mabel's and Teek's rooms. Dipper opened it. "Dibs on the chocolate!" Mabel said, making a beeline to the gift basket.</p><p>"You've got your own!" Teek said from behind her.</p><p>"Aw, nuts," Mabel complained. "Well, I'll be generous. But anything you guys don't want—"</p><p>"You can have," Dipper said. He looked past Teek. His and Mabel's room had two queen-sized beds—not that that meant they wouldn't share one.</p><p>"Let's freshen up, Mabes," Wendy said. "Then we can go see what this convention's all about."</p><p>Mabel said, "Good idea! Guys, you can freshen up in here. Wen and I will take the bathroom in our sweet suite. Have you looked at the bathrooms? The showers are as big as our old attic room in the Shack! And there's a phone beside the toilet!"</p><p>The girls went next door, and Dipper and Teek just stared at each other. "How do we freshen up?" Teek asked.</p><p>Dipper shrugged. "Don't know about you, but I think I'll wash my face, comb my hair, and call it even."</p><p>They did—the big bathroom had double sinks and a shower stall that flummoxed Dipper at first because it appeared to have no shower head. He peeked in and realized that the shower heads were in all four corners of the stall, plus overhead, surrounding a light fixture. Instead of hot and cold taps, the enclosure had a computer console that looked like the controls of an airplane. "Interesting," he said.</p><p>"How are you feeling?" Teek asked as they sat in the easy chairs in Dipper and Wendy's room.</p><p>"A little scared," Dipper admitted. "But at least they're making it easy so far."</p><p>Mabel and Wendy came back. Mabel had changed into her red sweater with a yellow star applique on the chest. "Come on, Teek," she said. "Wendy's gotta change. Hey, wear the blue sweater I made for you!"</p><p>"OK, but it's gonna be hot," Teek said. They closed the adjoining door behind them.</p><p>"Mabes wants us dressed up," Wendy said. "Guess I'll wear the tailored blazer. Why don't you wear your dark gray sport jacket?"</p><p>"I hate ties," Dipper grumbled.</p><p>"Don't wear one, dude. Be all stylish-cool!"</p><p>Wendy did look pretty in her green blazer, worn open over a white top, and her dark blue slacks. Dipper wore a red shirt, open at the throat, and the one sport jacket he had bought. Wendy had applied her usual light makeup—some blusher, eyebrow pencil, and the palest pink lipstick. Dipper fussed a little with his hair. "Is my birthmark showing?"</p><p>"Just a little bit. Why don't you comb your hair back? Nobody's gonna make fun of you."</p><p>"Maybe tomorrow," he told her. "Right now—I'm kind of edgy."</p><p>When Teek and Mabel returned, they called Amy, met her at the elevators, and she said, "Use your room key to operate the express elevators, remember."</p><p>"Got it!" Mabel tapped her key card, the left elevator opened its doors, and they rode down to ground level. After threading their way through the lobby crowd, they stepped outside and headed across Harbor Street to the convention. "Man," Mabel said, "I'm glad my Brobro's a VIP. Those check-in lines must take hours."</p><p>"The hotel's pretty efficient," the assistant said. "Now, once we get inside the Convention Center, stick with me. That crowd's gonna be dense."</p><p>They sidled and swerved their way through to some escalators, rode up two levels—a little less packed up there—and Amy plucked her convention badge from inside her blouse. A young man in a Dr. Odd costume stood beside the door of room 310, beside a standing sign that read "VIP SERVICES."</p><p>Amy flashed her badge, the kid swirled his cape and opened the door, and they went inside.</p><p>"OMG!" Mabel squeed as soon as they were in. "Steel Guy!"</p><p>A tall, handsome man with a beard and dark brown hair looked around, grinning. "Hey, how are you?" he said genially. "But when I'm not on the set, I'm Rod Downing."</p><p>"Mabel Pines!" Mabel said. "So glad to meet you! I love your movies! Even the Sherlock Holmes ones, and I've met the real Sherlock Holmes, and let me tell you, compared to you he was a jerk! Well, not real. Wax, but a replica. Could I take a photo?"</p><p>"I don't think I could stop you," the actor said</p><p>"Dipper, do the honors! Teek, get in here! Mr. Dowling, this is my fiancée, Teek O'Grady!"</p><p>"Lucky man," Dowling said, shaking Teek's hand.</p><p>"My brother over there is a VIP too. He writes the Granite Rapids books!"</p><p>"Really?" Dowling asked. He, Mabel, and Teek posed, Dipper took six different shots, and then the actor said, "Stan Mason in the flesh, are you?" He reached out to shake Dipper's hand. "My kids love those books. You're here because of the cartoon series?"</p><p>"This is my wife Wendy," Dipper said. "Uh, I mean, yes, sir, I am."</p><p>"Don't call me 'sir,'" Dowling said. "Wendy, wow! You look so nice!"</p><p>"Thank you," she said.</p><p>Amy, a little fussy said, "Come on, you have to get your badges."</p><p>"Hey," Dowling said as they went through another door into a room set up like an office, "catch me later. I'll buy your books and you can autograph them for my kids!"</p><p>"I'll be happy to!"</p><p>The convention team was on the ball. Each member of Dipper's party got a green badge—green evidently was the VIP color. Each badge had a still photo from the TV series "Rambling Zombies," the convention date, and "Invited Guest" on one side. Their names were beneath—STAN X MASON / AUTHOR, and Wendy was GUEST, Mabel and Teek both GRANITE RAPIDS STAFF. And each had a horizontal green ribbon at the bottom reinforcing GUEST.</p><p>The two girls at the counter told Dipper about the green room, whatever that was, showed him his personal schedule, gave him and each of the others a swag bag, and said, "Have a great time!"</p><p>When they returned to the outer room, Steel Guy was gone, but others were coming in. Dipper and Mabel didn't recognize any of the two men and three women, though Dipper thought that two of the latter had to be actresses.</p><p>"Let's go conning!" Mabel said.</p><p>"OK," Amy said. "I'll let you guys go your own way. The exhibit hall is huge. Check the schedule and see if there's anything going on you'd like to see. But remember—around six-forty, back to the hotel. Jan and I will meet you in the lobby and take you to dinner."</p><p>"Thanks for everything," Dipper said.</p><p>"You're welcome. And now that your badge identifies you—be careful."</p><p>"Come <em>on</em>, guys!" Mabel yelled from the top of the down escalator.</p><p>Wendy and Dipper hustled, Dipper asking, "What did she mean, 'be careful?'"</p><p>"Dude," Wendy said as they stepped on for their ride down, "I guess we're about to find out!"</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fandom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 20, 2018)</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>4-Fandom</strong>
</p><p>The vast exhibit hall stretched so wide, long, and tall that the Mystery Shack would fit in it and, Dipper thought, hardly be noticed at that. Hm. Holding Wendy's hand, he thought to her—it was too private an idea to speak, and anyway, unless he yelled, she'd have no hope of hearing him over the hubbub. <em>–Maybe next year we could get the publisher or the show to sponsor a Mystery Mansion exhibit, and Grunkle Stan and Soos could put it on. They'd probably make out like bandits.</em></p><p><em>Mention it to Stan, </em>Wendy thought back. <em>Just a sec.</em></p><p>She had her phone out, taking photos of the exhibitors, the displays, and the dense pack of attendees. The Werner Brothers display included ten-foot-tall cutouts of Fantabulous Beasties—the next big CGI movie up—and around it fans dressed as wizards, witches, and warlocks mingled and pointed. Further down the row, the Cartoony Network seemed to be hosting some artists, who were signing posters of their creations. All around, fans in plain and fancy clothes alike, some barely wearing anything but paint, jostled with each other. Wendy took a final shot, and then she took his hand again as they started to venture into one broad, but jammed aisle. <em>Want to show them what they'd be getting in for! Where's Mabes and Teek?</em></p><p>—<em>You got me. She dragged him off through the crowd, and I lost sight-whoa, look at that!</em></p><p>They had almost passed a booth dedicated to—ta-dah! <em>Ghost Harassers. </em>And Jasyn and Grant sat there, passing out souvenirs and autographing eight-by-ten photos. Dipper and Wendy struggled through the press of people and got close enough for Grant to notice them. Recognition dawned in his eyes, and he called out, "Dexter! Gwendolyn! Come over here! Back behind the table!"</p><p>They managed it, and with one arm around Dipper's shoulders and the other around Wendy's waist as Jasyn shot a photo, Grant called out, "Guys! Look who's here!" Dipper held up his name badge—hung around his neck on a lanyard—and Grant noticed it. Smoothly, he said, "Two of our guest stars on <em>The New Ghost Harassers, </em>Stan and Gwendy! Remember the ghost in the closet? These are the ones who tipped us to it!"</p><p>With oohs and ahhs, the people just leaving returned and more stopped to stare, and before he knew it, Dipper was signing <em>New Ghost Harassers</em> posters and Jasyn was loading him up with a keychain styled like a Ghost Harassers Spirit Detector (totally as effective as the real thing—that is, not at all), half a dozen pens with the GH logo, and other mementos. To keep appearances up, he signed "Stan Mason," though the first time he almost slipped up. Fortunately, he noticed the fan's name was Douglas, so he altered the Di he had started to write to scribble, "Douglas—from Stan Mason."</p><p>Wendy, he noticed, was signing "Wendy Corduroy," which was fine with him. About the fifteenth time he signed, his phone rang—though he could tell only because he felt it vibrating—and he pulled it out. "Excuse me," he said. "Gotta take this." He stepped back and turned away from the noisy crowd.</p><p>By plugging one ear with a finger, he could barely hear Mabel: "Broseph! Get your dippy butt here stat! Emergency!"</p><p>"What?" he almost yelled. "What's going on?"</p><p>"I'm being denied my birthright as a Mason! Quick, come here!"</p><p>"Where's here?"</p><p>"Doy! Where I am! Look around and find me."</p><p>"Mabel, that's impossible—this place is so huge and crowded, and there are so many exhibits—"</p><p>"Climb up and put your knees on Wendy's shoulders! It's not like you haven't done that before, just do it rightside up! What? Wait, Dip, Teek's yelling something in my ear. Ok. OK. Dipper! We're at the <em>Granite Rapids </em>booth! Look around—it's in the Ditzney group. Look for the big blow-up balloon of Larry Lemming! We're under that! And come quick, my life depends on it!"</p><p>Dipper grabbed Wendy's elbow and urged her to stand up. When fans made disappointed noises, he bawled out, "Sorry, we have to be somewhere right now. I'll be autographing tomorrow in, uh, the autograph room! Check your schedules—Stan Mason!"</p><p>A girl squealed.</p><p>Dipper and Wendy hustled out into the aisles and the squealer tackled him, almost bringing him to the floor. "You're him, you're him, you're really him! Eeee!"</p><p>"Uh—yeah, Stan Mason," he managed so say .</p><p>"OMG, OMG, OMAG! Hi, I'm Twinkle!" She was scrawny and gangly and maybe fourteen, and in a plush outfit and face paint, she was dressed in a mascot-like costume as a humanoid, um, pink horse or something. "We gotta find Maisy!" she screeched. "Oh my actual God, she's gonna be—I can't breathe—your books—we—"</p><p>"I'll be glad to meet her tomorrow," Dipper said. "There's a Granite Rapids panel and I'm on it. Come to that. It's on the schedule. I'll talk to you both right after it!"</p><p>"We'll be there! We have all your books!"</p><p>"Great, great," Dipper said. Luckily at that moment a parade of stormtroopers marched through, and Wendy managed to drag him to the other side of the flow.</p><p>"This way, while the getting's good!" she shouted. Then she took his hand. <em>Where are we going, man?</em></p><p>—<em>Mabel's having a fit. She's at the Granite Rapids booth somewhere—she says it's near the big balloon of Larry Lemming.</em></p><p>
  <em>Hang on, I think I saw that—over there! Across the room, past the dinosaur balloons—the big brown thing—that it?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-That's it. If we can get to it!</em>
</p><p>They wound like a drunken snake through the throng, working their way toward the cheerful face of the Ditzney Company's first big star, the loveable Larry Lemming, who debuted at about the same time as sound in movies and who in the old black-and-white theatrical short cartoons of the 1930s had been a raucous, trouble-making prankster with a squeaky-voiced catch phrase that caught on: "Ha-ha! Hi, kids! Follow me!"</p><p>They always followed him into disaster, but the toons were funny. More recently Larry had become more of a corporate logo than a cartoon star, but he had longevity—you had to give him that.</p><p>
  <em>Dude, I see the booth. And Mabel's jumping up and down. See her head popping up above the crowd?</em>
</p><p>He could hardly miss her. Surging up like a pitch-poling whale, waving both arms frantically, she appeared and then sank out of sight again about once every second and a half.</p><p>—<em>I see her now. Man, the crush around there's unbelievable!</em></p><p>They almost reached Mabel, but she saw them first, shoved attendees right and left to force her way to Dipper and Wendy, grabbed them, and yelled, "Crawl under the table and tell these people who you are! And then vouch for me!"</p><p>Teek, looking rumpled and with his glasses hanging low on his nose, shrugged ruefully.</p><p>Mabel ducked under the table, dragging Dipper.</p><p>Someone inside the booth yelled, "Hey, hey, no! Rich, call Security—"</p><p>"Belay that call!" bellowed Mabel. "That's a funny word. Look, smarty-pants guys, this is my brother Stan Mason, author of the books! Look, see, he's got a badge and everything! Show them your driver's license, Dip!"</p><p>The guy, more frazzled than Teek, even, was thin and tall, a basketball player's build, and he wore—Dipper blinked—a Granite Rapids tour jacket, shiny black satin with full-color images of the cartoon figures of Tripper and Alexia Palms, back to back and grinning. The flustered fellow's name badge identified him as Drake Seitz, PROFESSIONAL/DITZNEY HD. He had a bristly mop of coppery hair—not as red as Wendy's, but coppery—and a long nose. He stared at Dipper in shock. "Stan Mason? For real?"</p><p>"Yeah," Dipper confessed.</p><p>"Oh my gosh—back here—" Seitz opened a slit in the rippled maroon curtain at the back of the booth.</p><p>"My wife's over on the other side of the table—"</p><p>"Her, too, and your sister and her husband!"</p><p>It hardly seemed the time for explanations, so they all hustled into an odd little space—bulwarks of cardboard cartons had made a small room, six feet wide and fifteen long, behind the exhibit space. The guy held out his hand and said, "I'm D.D." He yelled, "Hey, Rich, snag Mari and get her to help you hold down things! We got Stan Mason here!"</p><p>"You're kidding!"</p><p>Grinning and shaking hands, D.D. called back, "Nope! Give Mari a yell!"</p><p>"You got it!"</p><p>Dipper felt Wendy clasp his free hand. <em>I think you're a star, my Big Dipper!</em></p><p>"Whoosh!" D.D.'s face was red and gleaming. He swept a palm across his hair, managing to make it stand a little straighter. "Sorry, it's a madhouse. Your sister was telling us you were here, but we weren't sure, we hadn't had word—"</p><p>"Hi," Mabel said, raising her hand for a high five. "Up top! Mavis Mason, glad to meet you, Drake. Why is it D.D?"</p><p>"Uh—because my middle name is David?" It sounded as if he was unsure himself.</p><p>"Sure, it can be," Mabel said graciously. "Now, D.D, my man, we gotta talk merch. Dipper, they've got a plush Waffles!"</p><p>"Waffles?" Dipper asked.</p><p>"Dipper?" D.D. asked.</p><p>"My nickname," Dipper explained. With a sigh he pushed his hair off his forehead. "See?"</p><p>"Dig it," Wendy said. "The Big Dipper."</p><p>"Oh!" D.D. said. "Like in the books, Tripper because Tripper has a birthmark—wait, that's not in any of the episodes so far! How do I know that?"</p><p>"Going to be in Book Seven, <em>Copy This,</em>" Dipper said. "You might have read about it. We sent the company really detailed outlines of the upcoming books."</p><p>"Gotcha. Well, yeah, we knew about Waffles the Pig—next summer's book, right?"</p><p>"Right," Dipper said. "<em>Piglet Out of Time."</em></p><p>"So, anyhow, yeah, we've got some plush animals, but we're not supposed to sell them—they're gonna be like prizes during the showing. But yeah, of course Mavis can have one. Just a sec."</p><p>He went through a split in the fabric curtain then returned with a football-sized pink-and-pinker plush piglet. "Come to Mama!" Mabel squealed. D.D. handed the toy over, and Mabel hugged it. "This so takes me back! Look, Brobro, just like Waddles! Even the circle around the eye! I'm gonna love it forever!"</p><p>"There's lots more merchandise here and in the pipeline," D.D. said. "You want a Tripper trucker's hat, with the pine tree?"</p><p>"Me?" Dipper asked. "Uh—I-yeah, sure, that'd be great."</p><p>"And you must be the real-life Willow," D.D. said to Wendy. "We've got a trapper's hat, we'll get one for you—"</p><p>"A fez for my guy!" Mabel said, urging Teek forward.</p><p>"Uh, that's not nec—" Teek began.</p><p>Mabel elbowed him. "I say it<em> IS</em> ness! I'll tell you what's ness! And a fez is definitely one of the nesses!"</p><p>They lingered for awhile. Everyone working the booth had to come back and meet them, and in the end they left—it was getting on toward dinner time—with each of them lugging a spacious fabric tote bag, with different characters on them—Wendy had a Willow, Dipper and Mabel had Tripper and Mavis—two different poses—and Teek had Grandy Manny and Moose the Handyman. And each bag had a splendid illustration of the Mystery Mansion.</p><p>"Man," D.D. said as they left, "I'm so sorry Alan isn't here. He's setting up the big show and the panels, though. You'll meet him tomorrow—Alan Kirsch, the showrunner and the director of the first six episodes. He's a cool guy, you'll like him. Hey, if you have time, here's my card with my number, call me tomorrow morning just before nine and we'll set up a couple hours when you can be here in the booth, OK?"</p><p>"OK," Dipper said. "Thanks, man, this is great."</p><p>"Gonna make you a lot of money, I hope," D.D. said with a grin. "You get two per cent every time any of our merchandise sells—starting after the convention!"</p><p>Wendy, fortunately, had always maintained her coolness in the face of chaos. She shepherded them all out of the exhibit hall, out of the Convention Center, and back to the hotel. Mabel was Mababbling: "I didn't know about the merch! Did you know about the merch? The Shack can be an outlet for the merch! I love Waffles! Did you see the tee shirts I scored? I wanna get married in one, Teek!"</p><p>Teek, walking at her side looking dazed in a replica of Grandy Manny's cranberry-colored fez, nodded, though Dipper didn't know if he was taking in all that came tumbling from Mabel's mouth.</p><p>Just outside the lobby, Dipper said, "Mabel. Mabel. Mabel." Finally he clapped his hand over her mouth. She kept talking for about three sentences but then realized she was making no audible sounds and got quiet. "Mabel. I'm glad you're so excited, but we're about to meet my editor, and I don't want you to, uh, overpower her, OK?"</p><p>"Uh 'ay," Mabel said in a muffled voice. Dipper took his hand away. "We gotta stash the loot in our rooms. Dipper, can I bring Waffles with me to dinner? Please?"</p><p>Dipper glanced at Teek, who shrugged.</p><p>"Sure," he said. "But let's leave everything else in the rooms. I'm not gonna wear the hat—"</p><p>"But it's just like yours!"</p><p>Dipper moved his hand beck toward her mouth, and Mabel shushed. "Let me finish. I'm not wearing it to dinner, but tomorrow when the panels start, I'll wear it. And maybe one of the tee shirts."</p><p>"I'll rock my ushanka," Wendy said with a broad smile.</p><p>"All the teen guys will fall in love with you," Teek said—surprisingly, because he was always a bit shy about stuff like that.</p><p>"At their own risk," Wendy said. "Hey, I gotta give my husband some reason to be jealous. Tomorrow he's gonna be assaulted by—what were their names, Dipper? Twinkie and Minnie?"</p><p>"Something like that," Dipper said. "I don't remember."</p><p>"That's the correct attitude," his wife said with her old mischievous grin. "Come on, we have ten minutes to dump the bags and get back to the lobby to meet people. I hope the restaurant's close. I'm starved."</p><p>"Oh, girl," Mabel said as they headed inside, "have some self-control!"</p>
<hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Loaf of Bread, Jug of Wine, and Wendy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 20, 2018)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>5-Loaf of Bread, Jug of Wine, and Wendy</strong>
</p><p>Teek and Dipper used a few minutes to wash their faces—Teek even did a quick shave, and Dipper used the electric razor Sheila had given him as a Christmas present to tidy up his cheeks and upper lip—and then changed shirts. Dipper put on his sport jacket. The ladies changed outfits.</p><p>"Wow," Dipper said when Wendy emerged from the dressing room in an off-the shoulder black dress, a string of pearls, and black patent leather shoes with modest heels. "You're gorgeous. Let's stay in!"</p><p>"Nope," she said, putting her arms over his shoulders and pulling him close for a kiss. When they ended it, she said, "But if you're real good during dinner, later you can take off everything I've got on. Except maybe the fishnets. The garter belt drives me nuts, but maybe just the stockings—down, boy!"</p><p>Mabel and Teek came in and Mabel, in her own black sheath and with a necklace of tiny gold stars with a larger pendant that in its center held a diamond, asked, "Ready? Let's go!"</p><p>They zipped back down to the ground floor and found a seat on a sectional sofa with a view of the front doors and the desk, still remarkably busy with late check-ins. Mabel got excited when a bobby and a duck wearing a Sherlock Holmes hat came through. "Duck's out of proportion," Dipper said.</p><p>"It's a girl!" Mabel said. "She's shorter than the copper, anyhow. She can't really be duck-sized! What did you expect?"</p><p>"How do you know it's a girl?" Dipper asked. The yellow waddling figure might conceal a chimpanzee for all he saw.</p><p>"Look at the legs," Teek said. "Definitely a girl."</p><p>"Don't you dare!" Mabel said. "Teek, how could you look at another duck's legs when I'm right here?"</p><p>"You're jealous of a duck?" he asked with incredulity making his voice higher.</p><p>"There's another one," Wendy said.</p><p>Glancing around, Mabel said, "No, that's Ducky Momo. Show for little tiny kids. No mystery element there!"</p><p>However, they saw many SF figures—white-armored stormtroopers, some so authentic they kept running blindly into pillars and potted plants—and other fans in the form-fitting Star Flight uniforms, brandishing tricorders and phasers, a good many Vulcanians giving split-finger salutes, some green or gray aliens. So many walked past wearing the robes and brandishing the wands of Pigbristle Academy of Warlockery and Witchery. There were fans dressed a blocky Letgo figures. Batpeople and superpeople galore. Drs Never-Mind-Who with Lekbots droning "Ex-term-i-nate," even a dwarf here and there—overgrown, but dressed dwarfishly—a giant or two.</p><p>"This is giving me all sorts of ideas for next year," Mabel said.</p><p>"Hey, there's Amy Barrows," Dipper said, standing up and waving. "Come on, she's beckoning us over."</p><p>"Beckoning!" Mabel chortled. "Weird word." But she had leaped to her feet, and she grabbed Teek's hand.</p><p>They skirted the fans and Amy said, "Hi, gang. You look so nice! Jan and the Southerns are waiting at the Sixth Avenue entrance. This way!"</p><p>They followed her. The entrance, as it turned out, was a taxi-and-limo pick-up/drop-off area. Amy led them to a group of three: a fiftyish couple, he balding and about as tall as Wendy, she a head shorter, thin, and very chic-looking. Beside them stood a tiny woman. Well, not Gnome-sized, but no more than five feet tall if that. She had a pixie haircut—short and blonde, with some gray that looked curiously sophisticated, a sharp chin and humorous blue eyes. She wore a matching blue pantsuit, and she smiled as they approached.</p><p>"Here we are!" Amy said. "Let me do the introductions. Wayne Southern, Belinda Southern, and Jan Maryk. This is Dipper and Wendy Pines, Mabel Pines, and her fiancé T.K. O'Grady."</p><p>"Teek," Teek said, waving.</p><p>Jan came forward. "Let me look at you," she said, taking both of Dipper's hands and tilting her head back. "You're really a baby! I didn't mean to make you blush." She looked back at the Southerns. "Dipper wrote the first Granite Rapids book when he was fifteen!"</p><p>"That beats me!" Mrs. Southern said. "I didn't write my first until I was thirty!"</p><p>"Oh, you write, too?" Mabel asked. "What?"</p><p>Her husband laughed. "That's the trouble with pen names. She's the author of the Frost and Flame series!"</p><p>Dipper's jaw dropped when he heard the name—a best-selling author, and an extremely famous one. "You're Grahame Gartner? I'm a huge fan of those books!"</p><p>"Me, too! I thought you were a guy!" Teek blurted.</p><p>Belinda Southern briefly caressed her husband's face. "Because Wayne models for the jacket photos," she said. "When I first started, my agent warned me that a woman's byline on action-fantasy novels would turn off male readers. So I became Grahame, and I'd regret it except for all the money it brought in!"</p><p>"Here's the limo!" Jan said. "Now, the whole evening is on Brangwen Books, so nobody even think of reaching for the check. I hope everyone likes Seasonings."</p><p>"I'm not nuts abut cilantro," Mabel admitted.</p><p>Jan linked arms with her. "Mabel, the Seasonings is a four-star restaurant."</p><p>"Then lead the way, lady! I like your style!"</p><hr/><p>Later, Dipper's memories of the event were foggy. Part of it was reaction—it had been long and wild day—and part of it was being star-struck at sitting at the same table as a Hugo and Nebula winning SF author whose books sold in the millions and currently were unfolding as a long, complex, and high-rated cable TV series. Belinda had been a writer for twenty-five years, and she attended conventions like this with her husband, who appeared as Grahame Gartner. He always insisted that his wife sit in on the panels, saying, "She's the true inspiration and really the source of the books."</p><p>"I'm only a tax attorney," he told them. "Couldn't write a short story to save my neck. But Bel's still too shy to come out of the pseudonym closet, and to me, masquerading as a successful writer is fun."</p><p>"Cosplay," Belinda said. "And it's fun for me not to be at the center of the incredible army of fans. Wayne doesn't mind it, so it works out fine for us."</p><p>"Dipper had a little taste of that today," Wendy said. "A pony girl grabbed hold of him."</p><p>Belinda laughed. "You got glomped!" she said. "Fans can get handsy. Tell us about Granite Rapids. I know it's going to be a cartoon show—congratulations!—but I'm afraid I haven't read the books."</p><p>Dipper shrugged. "Well, they're for kids. But basically, it's about two twelve-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, who spend a summer at their grandfather's tourist trap in Granite Rapids, California. It turns out that the place is rife with paranormal creatures and events, and the Palms twins—that's their name, Alexis and Alexia Palms—become paranormal investigators."</p><p>"It's really about us," Mabel said. "The same thing happened to Dip and me, only it was our great-uncle instead of our grandfather, and it was in Gravity Falls—that's in Oregon—and not in California. That's where Dip first met Wendy!"</p><p>"But I want to hear about Frost and Flame," Dipper said. "You only started the series about ten years ago, you've put out seven so far, and the books are so long, complex, and tightly plotted—how do you do it?"</p><p>"Wayne and I talk out plot structures and situations until a story feels ripe, then I put my butt in the chair, curse a little bit, and start keyboarding," Belinda said.</p><p>"The waiter is here," Jan said gently.</p><p>They ordered, a distracted Dipper asking for the first thing on the menu—Navarin D'Agneau—without realizing what it was. He'd had French, but not gastronomic French. It turned out to be a succulent and delicious lamb dish. Wendy went for a dinner salad with spiced peaches and avocados. Teek modestly ordered a sirloin, medium, and after dithering for some time, Mabel deferred to the others.</p><p>After Amy, Jan, and the Southerns had ordered, Mabel told the waiter, "I'll have what the last lady ordered, please." That turned out to be a cassoulet, and after one taste Mabel had no complaints. Belinda had ordered a small accompanying salad and a bottle of Marcillac, which turned out to be a red French wine. The salad didn't worry Dipper, but the wine did. Teek, who had ordered water, received a wine glass, and to Dipper's relief, he helped Mabel drink it.</p><p>After dessert, Jan said, "I hate to talk shop, but I need to know a couple of things for next fall. Bel, are you up for a book tour?"</p><p>"As long as it isn't in tax season," Belinda Southern said. "My front man is too busy then. How long?"</p><p>Belinda glanced at Wayne. He said, "Two weeks? I can use vacation time."</p><p>"Two weeks will be fine," Jan said. "We'll slot you in for between Thanksgiving and the week before Christmas. Dipper, same question."</p><p>"I wouldn't be able to do it then," Dipper said. "University. Uh, maybe a week in December and one in the spring? Wen, when do our breaks come?"</p><p>"Christmas break starts December seventh," Wendy said. "Spring break—I don't know, I'd have to check."</p><p>"That will work out," Jan said. "How about the West during Christmas break between the eighth and the fifteenth, and the East in the spring?"</p><p>"What does that mean?" Mabel asked, drinking the last of the Marcillac. "Where will he go?"</p><p>"For winter break, probably Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Austin, and Denver, for sure, and maybe a couple more stops. He might be able to squeeze in two appearances in one day if our planners can work out the route. We'll decide later. The spring tour would start in Chicago and end in New York, other cities to be named."</p><p>"It's a deal!" Mabel said. "But I gotta come, too. I'm his manager."</p><p>"I don't think that will be a problem," Jan said. "Ditzney is paying more than half of the expenses."</p><p>In the limo ride back to the Hardling Hotel, Dipper shyly asked if the Southerns were doing an autograph session. Wayne laughed. "Six of them!"</p><p>"I'll buy your latest and come get it signed," Dipper said. "I haven't bought a copy of <em>Frosted Iron</em> yet, but I was going to."</p><p>"No, you won't," Jan said. "Tomorrow early, stop by the Fenris Group's booth, on Book Alley in the exhibitors' hall. I'll be there, and I'll put aside a copy of <em>Frosted Iron</em> for you. Courtesy of Brangwen Books. We're in the center of the Fenris Publishing display."</p><p>"Thanks! What time are you autographing?" Dipper asked.</p><p>Belinda looked at Wayne, who said, "The panel's at eleven, the autographing starts at twelve-fifteen. But come to the green room around ten-thirty and we'll be there. Less crowded that way! Professional courtesy."</p><p>Jan said, "There you are. And that reminds me, did you get word about the YA panel at two, Dipper?"</p><p>"Yes, somebody—oh, Amy—texted me yesterday. It's in 6DE. I'll have to find where that is. Mabel, are you all right?"</p><p>"Oh, sure," she said in a too-bright voice. In the bright lights from the approach to the convention, Dipper recognized the pale greenish tinge and hoped his sister wouldn't barf in the limo.</p><p>"You're replacing Lacey LaLaine," Jan said. "She's under the gun for a deadline and decided at the last minute she couldn't come. The topic is 'Mystery, Fantasy, and Fantastic Mysteries,' though. You'll fit right in. The other writers—they aren't ours, alas—are Jayne Breene, the Kitty Hart series, and Darnell Warren, who writes the Henry the Hero books, and Catherine Quayle, who writes the Haunted Trails series."</p><p>"I'm kinda the junior guy," Dipper said. The others she'd named were veterans, with sure-fire name recognition.</p><p>"Don't worry about it. Just listen, and when the moderator asks for your observations, tell them what you think. Or if you haven't thought about it, ask another question and answer that instead. 'So what do you think about the accusation that fantasy as a bad influence on critical thought?' You'd say, 'Does fantasy fiction help readers become more imaginative? I'd say yes. <em>Granite Rapids</em> has characters that are wild and funny, but they address problems in a logical way, and they're supportive of each other. They're good influences.'"</p><p>"She's been talking to Grunkle Stan," Mabel confided. "That's his kind of spiel!"</p><p>Luckily, they arrived at the hotel, said their good-nights to Jan, Amy, and the Southerns, and went straight up to their rooms.</p><p>"Are you going to be sick?" Dipper asked Mabel in the elevator.</p><p>Mabel leaned against a mirrored wall, her eyes squeezed shut. "Hard to say. That wine tasted better going the other way. Woo, why's the elevator spinning?"</p><p>"You shouldn't have had four glasses," Wendy said. "How much wine have you had at one time before?"</p><p>"Um. One glass once on a date with Teek. And the Passover wine in an itty-bitty glassy, that's all."</p><p>"You don't look so hot. Here we are. If I were you, I'd get to the room and to the bathroom ASAP."</p><p>Wendy and Dipper's room was closest, so Mabel dashed into their bathroom, knelt on the floor, and if she had been a Gnome, she would have made the water in the toilet resplendent with all the colors of the spectrum. "Gah," she said, standing up and steadying herself on the sink. "What a waste of expensive food! Take me and put me to bed, Teek. I think it's all gone now."</p><p>After flushing—twice—she rinsed her mouth—thoroughly—and then with Teek steadying her, made her way out and next door to their room.</p><p>"Mabel just doesn't have brakes," Dipper said.</p><p>"Yeah, she should have waited, like we did."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Looking mischievous, Wendy gestured to the counter beside the mini-fridge. The bottle of champagne now rested in a bucket of ice, with a cloth napkin swathed around it. "Time for our celebration," she said.</p><p>"Um—I've never had champagne before."</p><p>"Neither have I, just mainly beer now and then. It's supposed to be good stuff. And this is a small bottle, but if you don't like it, we don't have to finish it."</p><p>They decided to sit side by side in front of the window looking out toward the Convention Center and the bay beyond. After a bit of struggle and a lot of thumb pressure, Dipper managed to pop the cork—in the shower stall, just to be safe—and after the little eruption of foam, he wrapped a face towel around the drippy bottle, came out, and went over to join Wendy, who had turned out all the room lights and just let the glow of the convention illuminate the room. She had also set two champagne flutes on the table, and he filled them.</p><p>"Where'd you get the robe?" he asked. She was wearing a white terrycloth number.</p><p>"Yours is in the closet," she said. "There's a note that says we can keep them. Very snuggly and comfy. Thanks. To you, my Big Dipper."</p><p>"And to you, my Lumberjack girl."</p><p>They clinked rims. They drank. "Not as bad as I thought it would be," Dipper said. "Very light."</p><p>"Pour another."</p><p>They decided to stop at three glasses each, leaving maybe one more int the bottle. Wendy stretched like a cat, hummed a contented little tuneless note of pleasure, and murmured, "It's only a little past ten, but big day tomorrow."</p><p>"You're probably right," Dipper said. "We should turn in. This stuff does make me feel a little dizzy. But happy!"</p><p>Wendy got up, drew the curtains, and went over to the bed, where she clicked on a dim, rosy bedside light. Then she turned toward him. "Would you hang up my robe for me, please?"</p><p>"Sure," he said.</p><p>He hadn't suspected that the robe was all she was wearing.</p><p>Well—all aside from her pearl choker and her fishnet stockings.</p><p>He draped the robe over the back of a chair. It didn't have to be put in the closet right that minute. It could wait.</p><p>Unlike Dipper.</p><hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Breakfast with Champions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 21, 2018)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>6-Breakfast with Champions</strong>
</p><p>After a sweet, sweet interlude on going to bed, Dipper slept much better than he'd expected. True, his REM sleep teemed with semi-nightmare figures, and at one point he was on stage with a mike in his hand before he realized he'd totally forgotten to put on any clothes, but by and large, he slept soundly. And he woke up, as he almost always did, a few minutes before five AM, swung his legs off the bed, and—this time—thought he would die.</p><p>"Arggghh!"</p><p>"What's the matter?" Wendy asked softly, making him wince.</p><p>Sitting on the edge of the bed, slumping, and holding his skull together with both hands, he replied, "I have a horrible headache. Ow!"</p><p>Wendy sat beside him, bare and warm, and nuzzled his cheek. "That's a champagne head, dork. You have a touch of hangover."</p><p>"A touch! Ow! My head's thumping!"</p><p>She nudged him. "Get up and let's hit the showers."</p><p>"Just let me die here."</p><p>Wendy chuckled. "Dude, I've got more than a twinge myself. But my Dad knows how to deal with this, and I learned his techniques. Come on—you know why we have hangovers?"</p><p>"Because we drank wine and I'm definitely not—ow! Used to it?"</p><p>"No," Wendy said seriously. "God gave us hangovers so people who live in California will know what it feels like to be in Oregon in February."</p><p>He laughed a little, though laughing hurt. He permitted himself to be rousted out of bed—he and Wendy were both dressed for the shower, her fishnets left behind in the tangled sheets—and after insisting that he take two acetaminophen tablets with a full glass of water and doing the same herself, Wendy experimented with the shower temperature controls. The warm-nearly-hot water rushed in from all sides, except none of it was aimed at the door. "In we go. I'll scrub your back, you do mine."</p><p>OK, he had to admit that despite the headache, that process was very pleasant. The shower had an array of dispensers—five kinds of shower gel, two different shampoos, three different conditioners. One of the gels had a piney scent, and with a soft washcloth and even better her hands, Wendy soaped him up and rubbed him down. Well, mostly down.</p><p>Though still too shaky and achy to be in the mood, he became definitely interested and as they rinsed, he asked, "Do I remember our session last night right? We did things, um, in new ways."</p><p>She was behind him, her wet flesh pressed against his back, her arms around him, and so she didn't bother speaking. <em>You remember right, Dip. That's what alcohol does—drops the barriers, lowers your inhibitions. Any regrets?</em></p><p>—<em>No! You?</em></p><p>
  <em>Are you kidding, man? I want to try all that again. Maybe twice! Only not right now. I'm gonna turn off the water and we have to get out for the next stage of the cure.</em>
</p><p>When they had dried themselves, Wendy surprised him by digging his running shorts and a tee shirt from her bag. "Dress out," she said, tossing them to him. "Just 'cause we're on vacation doesn't mean you aren't going to exercise!"</p><p>"How?" he asked, though he began putting on his running togs.</p><p>"There's a workout room on the top floor. We're heading there, but first come with me. A little stop on the way."</p><p>She led him down the hall, and he began to smell breakfast aromas. He hadn't even looked at the amenities list, but halfway down their hall the Hardling offered an enhanced Continental breakfast room: cold cereals, juices, milk, coffee, pastries, and fruit, plus waffle makers and an omelet station. "We'll be back to eat later," Wendy said. "First, get this down." She handed him a tall, full glass of OJ. "You have to stay hydrated, that's rule number one. Also, champagne tends to screw with your blood sugar, so this will give you some pep." They didn't clink rims, but both downed about twelve ounces of juice.</p><p>Dressed in their running garb, they rode the express elevator all the way to the top floor, and there, handy to the elevator niche, lay a well-appointed workout room—weight machines, stationary bikes, resistance machines, and treadmills. A couple of middle-aged guys were using two of the bikes, but everything else was open.</p><p>Dipper had used a few treadmills, though he much preferred open running. He and Wendy got on side-by-side machines and started off at a comfortable jog without much incline. At first Dipper thought <em>I can't do this,</em> but Wendy was a good coach and a good role model, and gradually he began to think he might survive. The view was glorious, looking out over the bay—unusually clear because a cool front had slipped through in the night, blue water and greenery on Coronado on the far side of the sailboat-notched bay.</p><p>After ten minutes, Wendy asked, "How's the headache, Dip?"</p><p>"Better," he said.</p><p>"Then let's kick it up." They adjusted the incline and speed and soon were running in the long-legged lope that they favored on their morning runs. True, the hangover came back a bit—when Dipper's pulse rate rose, so did the throbbing—but it was nothing he couldn't deal with. In forty minutes they'd logged five miles, and so they slowed down, cooled down, and got off panting.</p><p>"You didn't have a headache?" Dipper asked.</p><p>"Sure I did," she said, grinning. "But I've had 'em twice before, so I know how to push through them. I'm a flippin' Corduroy, man. Back to the room. We're all hot and sweaty."</p><p>Which called for another, slower, shower, and they found out they could do delightful things standing up, with Wendy pressed against a wall and Dipper pressed against Wendy. Perhaps another few inhibitions fell by the wayside, who can tell. It was . . . well, a workout of a different kind, with a really fantastic finish line.</p><p>Which called for a little more showering.</p><p>This time they got dressed for the day. Someone tapped on the adjoining door, and since they were both decent, clothed except for a lack of shoes, Dipper opened it. Mabel zombie-trudged in. "I'm sick," she moaned. "Condition critical."</p><p>"Headache?" Wendy guessed. "Furry tongue? Nausea?"</p><p>"A virus?" Mabel asked. Man, her eyes were red.</p><p>"Nope. That's the toxic remains of wine swimming around in your blood. How's Teek?"</p><p>She shook her head in slow motion. "He's OK. He only had two glasses of wine, and they weren't even full."</p><p>"We got this," Wendy said. "Here's what you do—here, take two of these pills with a big glass of water. Right now." When she had, Wendy said, "OK, now go to your room and get showered and dressed. There's a free breakfast bar just down the hall—"</p><p>"I don't think I can eat." Mabel looked appalled even as she said those unhallowed words.</p><p>"She's right. Her condition's critical," Dipper said.</p><p>"We're gonna get fluids in you, anyway," Wendy said. "You've got to watch out for dehydration, that makes it worse. Fifteen minutes. Get ready!"</p><p>Mabel dragged out. A quarter of an hour later, with her wearing her star sweater and Teek the blue one she had made, the four of them went to the breakfast room, where, oh my gosh, Mabel jerked as though she'd stepped on a live power cable, because at the omelet bar stood Bradon Petersen and Kirsten Stephens, the two actors who were the main stars of the Dusklight series of vampire films.</p><p>The sight so bedazzled Mabel that Dipper and Teek took care of seating her—at a table next to the actors'—and brought to her a glass of water, a tall glass of orange juice, and a full cup of coffee dosed with cream and sugar, along with a bowl of Crunchy Cornies with milk and a toasted bagel with a shmear of cream cheese and on the side a tiny cup of sour cherry preserves.</p><p>Mabel gulped the juice almost all at once and then squeaked, "Do you know who that is?"</p><p>"Sure," Teek said, his own breakfast—an egg, cheese, and ham omelet and a croissant, with cranberry juice and coffee –on the table and sitting next to Mabel. He called out, "Hi, guys! My fiancée loves your movies."</p><p>The two looked resigned but smiled and both said "Thanks."</p><p>"I love your movies!" Mabel said. "Wait, somebody said that already. Hi, I'm Mabel Pines. This is Teek O'Grady. I'm gonna marry him. We're here for the <em>Granite Rapids</em> premiere."</p><p>Kirsten brightened up. "Really? I've seen the promos for that! I hear it's going to be fantastic. I know some of the voice actors. Are you a pro?"</p><p>"Naturally!" Mabel said. "No. Well, sort of. Oh, here's my brother. He's a writer. He writes books. His books are about Granite Rapids. I'm talking like a first grader. I'm thrilled to see you! I manage him. He's Dipper Pines, but he writes under the name of Edbert Culler."</p><p>"He uses the name of my character?" the actor asked, blinking in surprise. He wasn't nearly as pale as he appeared in the movies.</p><p>"No," Dipper said. "Hi, yes, I'm her brother, and no, she's wrong, my pen name is Stan Mason. This is my wife Wendy."</p><p>Now Petersen looked really impressed. He stood up and said, "Wendy! So great to meet you! Uh, both!"</p><p>Mabel had just stopped herself from face-planting in her cereal bowl. She took a big gulp of coffee and said, "My brain's not awake yet! I'm so sorry I'm making a fool of myself. We won't bother you. Any more, I mean. Mabel eats now."</p><p>That amused the actors, and Kirsten said, "You're not that bad, and it <em>is </em>way early. Hey, we have a panel at ten where we're going to show some advance scenes from the next Dusklight. Come to the green room about a half-hour early, and we can chat when you're awake."</p><p>"Autographs?" Mabel asked weakly.</p><p>"Eight by tens, personalized, in permanent marker," Stephens assured her. "On the house!"</p><p>"Normally we ask twenty dollars each for them," Kirsten said. "It goes to charity."</p><p>"We'll donate," Dipper said. "Mabel, don't sit there with your spoon dribbling cereal, eat. She'll be better. It takes her a while to wake up, and we had a busy night."</p><p>"Tell us about it," Stephens said. "We were being interviewed at midnight! I mean, just 'cause I play a vampire doesn't mean I keep vampire hours."</p><p>Both parties ate and chatted a little. Dipper nearly choked up, though, when the author of the Gooseflesh series came in, alone, for a Danish and coffee. The actors knew him and asked him over, and Dipper found himself nearly as awed as Mabel had been. S. M. Kline had at one time been his favorite author, and now he sat only three feet away, and he ate a Danish just like a person.</p><p>To his surprise, Kirsten introduced Kline to Dipper, Wendy, Mabel, and Teek. "Oh, sure," the writer said. "I've read a couple of your Granite Rapids books. You've got quite a character in that Manny! Funniest con artist I've ever read about. Kids are well-drawn, too. Congratulations."</p><p>"You're welcome," Dipper said. "Uh, I mean thank you. I mean, I'm kinda star-struck!"</p><p>Winking, Kline said, "You're young yet. But as you write more, you'll find that all us writers pull our techniques out of the same bag of tricks. Something I'll suggest to you, free of charge. I like your characters and your setting, but you can juice up the suspense in one simple way. Want to know it?"</p><p>"S-sure," Dipper said.</p><p>"OK, when you get to the last page of a chapter in your first draft, take a pen and draw a circle around the final paragraph. Then when you revise, cut that paragraph and revise it as needed to make it the first one of the next chapter. That creates a page turner!"</p><p>"Wow," Dipper said. "I'll remember that!"</p><p>That might have been true—but by the time they set out for the Brangwen Books booth, Dipper could no longer recall what he'd had for breakfast. However, he—and Mabel, he noticed—both seemed to be feeling better, so they dived into their second day at the con.</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. An Amateur's Guide to Being a Pro</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 21, 2018)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>7-An Amateur's Guide to Being a Pro</strong>
</p><p>At 8:50, the four of them stepped out of the hotel and headed toward the convention center—a curiously quiet scene at the moment, no crowds or costumed characters in evidence (though in the lobby they'd spotted four young people curled up sleeping in the chairs).</p><p>Dipper took out his phone and clicked a number he'd already speed-dialed. "Hi," the voice said on the other end. "What's up now?"</p><p>"Uh, D.D?" Dipper asked.</p><p>"You got him. Oh, wait, Stan Mason, right? Hey, can you come straight to our exhibit space right now?"</p><p>"We're heading over," Dipper said.</p><p>"OK, so technically no attendees can get in before 10, but I'll send word to someone to escort you—your party with you?"</p><p>"Party? Oh, my wife and sister and my sister's fiancé. Yeah, we're crossing, uh, Harbor right now."</p><p>"OK, four, super, you know the entrance closest to disabled services?"</p><p>"Yeah, I think so," Dipper said.</p><p>"You'll see a gal there in a Granite Rapids jacket. She'll escort you back. See you in a few!"</p><p>They had to ask a convention staffer how to get there, but in ten minutes they saw a young brunette woman wearing one of the Palms Twins jackets. They came up, Dipper introduced everyone, and she said, "It's exciting to have you with us! Right this way. We'll take the short cut."</p><p>They threaded past movie company booths, RPG game booths, comic-book booths, smaller booths dedicated to individual—or maybe small groups of—artists, with art from pen sketches to watercolors to acrylics displayed. "Coming back here later!" Mabel said.</p><p>D.D. and Rick were at the Granite Rapids exhibit, unpacking boxes of tee shirts. "Come this way!" Rick said, straightening up. "Serena, will you help Rick get the carousels set up? Come on, Dipper, backstage!"</p><p>In the faux room created by cardboard ramparts, a young guy sat in a plastic and aluminum chair, texting madly and rapidly. When they came in, he briefly held up a hand signaling "Just a second" and finished his texts. "There. Finally." He glanced up. "Yo, D.D. What now?"</p><p>"I thought you'd like to meet the author," D.D. said, grinning. Dipper, this is Alan Kirsch, director of <em>Granite Rapids</em>!"</p><p>"Oh, my gosh!" Kirsch, a guy not much older than Wendy, jumped up and—hugged Dipper. Then he pushed him away at arm's length. Kirsch didn't look like Dipper's mental image of a TV bigshot—he wore desert boots, faded jeans, and a red plaid flannel shirt. His hair was a deeper red than Wendy's, and so was his small chin beard. "You're a young guy!" he said. "I love your books, man. We're trying our best to do justice to them! Dipper, was it?"</p><p>"Yeah," Dipper said, rubbing the back of his neck. "My real name's Mason Pines, but everybody calls me Dipper because—" He held the hair off his forehead. "Uh, and this is my sister Mabel—"</p><p>"That sweater!" Alan said, swiveling to hug Mabel. "I'd recognize you anywhere! I'd probably take you for a cosplayer, but I'd know you were Alexia!"</p><p>"Don't talk to me about costumes and masquerades," Mabel warned. She still nursed a grudge because when they were thirteen, she, Dipper, and Wendy had entered a masquerade at another big con, this one in a parallel universe. They were representing themselves—and came in second.</p><p>"Willow!" Alan said, hugging Wendy.</p><p>"Real name's Wendy," she told him after he had stepped back. "Me and Dip are an old married couple. One year next August! Dude, I like your ensemble."</p><p>"Thanks—and-?"</p><p>"Teek," Mabel said, pushing him forward. "My fiancé. He's not in the books but hug him anyhow."</p><p>So Alan did.</p><p>"Guys, this is terrific. D.D, give them anything they want! Listen, you know about our panel tomorrow—wait, do you have to be anywhere now?"</p><p>"Not right away," Dipper said.</p><p>"Let's go have some coffee," Alan said. "You guys, hang around and scope out our display—"</p><p>"We'll help unpack if you want," Wendy said.</p><p>D.D. beamed at her. "Great! We can use help!"</p><p>Alan assured them, "I'll only keep Dipper away for twenty minutes. This way!"</p><p>They took all of a two-minute walk and entered a lounge—a small free-standing room with a table and eight chairs, a counter with a coffee maker, powdered creamer, sugar, and artificial sweeteners. A bowl of fruit—bananas, oranges, apples, and pears—sat on the counter along with several boxes of assorted cookies, the treats free for the taking. Alan asked Dipper, "Dark, medium, blond?"</p><p>"Medium," Dipper said, mostly because he didn't know what the heck they were talking about.</p><p>"Medium, medium—breakfast blend OK?"</p><p>Oh, it was one of those pod-type coffee makers, except the coffee was in little pouches, not plastic pods. "Sounds great," Dipper said, realizing that the dark, medium, and blonds weren't people, but grades of roasted coffee. Alan popped the medium roast into the machine, placed a cardboard cup beneath the spout, pressed a button, and the coffee gurgled, then flowed, into the cup.</p><p>"There you go," Alan said, handing Dipper the hot cup and tossing the used coffee pouch, substituting a dark-roast one for it. "I have to have brain fuel," Alan said. "I take mine black, but fix yours up any way you want."</p><p>"Just some creamer," Dipper said, shaking in about a tablespoon of the powder and stirring it with a flat stick like a Munchkin's popsicle stick.</p><p>"Sit, sit," Alan said, taking a seat at the table. Dipper sat across from him. "If you or any of your people need a break, you can get into any of the lounges with your pro badges. First ComicsCon?"</p><p>"Yeah. Kinda intimidating."</p><p>"Don't let it get to you. The attendees are friendly, if kinda weird. OK, business. Would you mind showing up at our booth a couple of times for an hour at a time? Chat with attendees, sign some merchandise?"</p><p>"Not at all," Dipper said.</p><p>"What does your day look like? Wait, better question—when do you have a free hour?"</p><p>"Well—I agreed to be on a panel at two. Maybe before that? Twelve-thirty to one-thirty?"</p><p>"Will that give you time for lunch?"</p><p>"Oh, sure," Dipper said.</p><p>"If you run short on time, just check out the green room," Alan advised. "It's on the same level as the guest check-in room—Facing that door, it'll be the second door down the hall to your right. There's always sandwich fixings, chips, fruit, pastries, and so on. It'll get you through. Man, it's so good to meet you! The first book blew me away. I can relate. I've got a twin sister, too! We have to get you a hat—"</p><p>"Got one," Dipper said. He pulled it from his backpack and clapped it on his head. "This is the original. Well, probably like the fourth-generation original. I've lost one, had one swept away by the ocean, burned one—but this is the original pine-tree hat. It came from my great-uncle's tourist trap in Oregon."</p><p>"Get out of town! That's why the books seem so grounded! Where is this place, and when can I visit it?"</p><p>"It's a little town named Gravity Falls, sort of north of Bend," Dipper said. "Good luck finding a map, and GPS systems go out of whack near it. Here, I'll give you my email and if I can have yours, I'll send you a .pdf map."</p><p>Alan dug out a card, Dipper gave him one that Wendy had arranged to have printed up for him, and they finished their coffee and headed back.</p><p>At the booth, Alan told everyone to look at Dipper's hat. "We didn't get the blue right," a girl whom Alan introduced as Chill Evans said. "Not a Navy blue, more of a royal blue."</p><p>"Chill's our lead storyboard artist," Alan said. "We gotta get busy, Dipper, so just check in here at twelve-thirty, and we'll set you up at a table with some of your books and some of our merch. Great meeting you, man!"</p><p>He high-fived Dipper, and Dipper discovered that the others had scattered out. D.D. said that Mabel and Teek were heading for a Dusklight panel, and Wendy was going to a Breakthrough Channel presentation on one of its <em>Mysterious America</em> episodes, "Perplexing Northwest," in which the show explored strange reports of allegedly paranormal mysteries in the forests.</p><p>Promising to be back at half—past noon, Dipper went to find the Brangwen Books booth. That took him twenty minutes, but when he found it Jan was there, and with a broad smile she gave him the copy of the Frost and Flame book she had promised. "Don't let lugging it around it wear you out," she said, providing him with yet another tote bag, this one with the Brangwen Books logo.</p><p>Leaving the Exhibition Hall, Dipper made his way back to the check-in level and without too much difficulty found the discreet little sign "Green Room – Pro Guests Only." Two young guys in ComicsCon tees checked his badge and his driver's license before admitting him.</p><p>He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this—a largish sort of a room, longer than it was wide, with one glass wall looking back toward their hotel. A long table stood in the middle, and in the space to its right armchairs and loveseats clustered in conversational groups, while on the left a dozen round tables, four chairs each, accommodated people more intent on eating than talking. The morning sun streamed through the windows, curved and giving something of the feel of being inside an upscale greenhouse. A girl and a guy in convention shirts welcomed him and told him to pick up anything he wanted from the refreshment table.</p><p>Too bad Mabel wasn't with him. Pastries in abundance, miniature kebabs of ham, pineapple, and cheese and other assorted tidbits, granola bars, berries and fruits weighed down the table. A counter with not one but three small refrigerators held real cream, milk, juices, and other stuff, and not one but four urns dispensed regular and decaf coffee, hot chocolate, and hot water for tea.</p><p>Though he didn't want anything more to eat at the moment, Dipper remembered Wendy's advice to stay hydrated and got himself a cup of cold water. At that hour, only a few people were in the green room (which, by the way, was mostly yellowish-beige), but Dipper spotted four actors at a round table, ones who had played secondary characters in <em>Muffy, the Vampire's Terror</em>.</p><p>He sat alone at a table and took out the new book, thick and heavy like all the others in the Frost and Flame series. Dipper glanced at the cover art—a foreboding armored figure holding a long black sword etched with white curlicues, but stained with red—beneath the title <em>Frosted Iron. </em>Dipper inferred that the armored warrior was Clave, the youngest of the Ironfist clan, who in the climactic betrayal and assassinations of the previous book had become master of the domain by murdering his father and three uncles. He opened the book to the first chapter.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>On that chill Midwinter's Day cold shone the sun and weak. In the throne room of Castle Blazon, the young Imperator Clave Ironfist brooded alone, waiting word from the scouts who, since the first scarlet had tinged the trees of the realm, had been scouring the land for Princessa Delenya Wingheart. Everything depended on their finding her and returning her to the castle. Without her, Clave would be naught but an under-aged usurper, a false Imperator. But wedded to Delenya, he would be in such stead that no one would dare question his right to the throne.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And after the wedding, should she die, why, he would make sure that none would mourn her.</em>
</p><hr/><p>"What do you think?" asked a voice behind him.</p><p>It made Dipper jump, but then he realized the Southerns, Wayne and Belinda, had silently come up behind him. He started to stand, but Wane put his hand on Dipper's shoulder. "No, no, we're loaded with food here. Sit, we'll join you!"</p><p>Belinda sat to Dipper's left. She had a plate with a croissant, a pat of butter, and on a plate an assortment of cheeses, grapes, and melon balls. Wayne set his own plate on Dipper's right—he'd gone for a bagel with cream cheese and thin-sliced lox, plus orange sections and a small bowl of nuts. "I'll get the coffee," he told Belinda. "You pump him for his opinion."</p><p>She shook her head as her husband went toward the coffee station. "Not really. You haven't even read the first page yet!"</p><p>"But what I've read is good," Dipper said. "How do you keep all the characters and their backstories straight? I always slip up somehow. You know, a character's eyes will be gray in the second chapter and blue in the seventh. And at times I've even absent-mindedly called Granite Rapids Granite Falls!"</p><p>Belinda sighed. "It's hard work. Wayne and I make exhaustive outlines—do you outline?"</p><p>"Yes, about one page per chapter, and the chapters run from twelve to twenty pages, on average. But I found out that if I don't outline, I never get to the end!"</p><p>"We do the same, but for us, the outline is about twice the length of the book."</p><p>"Wow." <em>Frosted Iron, </em>he had noticed, was 600 pages long, and it wasn't the longest in the series.</p><p>Wayne returned with two mugs of coffee, setting one beside his wife, along with two packets of sugar. He had already doctored his own, because it was a pale brown, café-au-lait as the color was justly called. "Dipper, can I get you coffee or anything?"</p><p>"No, thanks. I already ate, way early, and I'm drinking water to stay hydrated."</p><p>"Ah," Wayne said, sitting. "Then I'll give you the most important advice for a writer attending a convention: Never pass a bathroom without paying it a visit!"</p><p>"I'll remember," Dipper said with a grin. "Uh—would you sign the book?"</p><p>"I thought you'd never ask!" Wayne reached to his inner jacket pocket and brought out a beautiful pen, ebony inlaid with gold filigree and—as Dipper saw when he uncapped it—a real fountain pen, not a ballpoint. He passed it to Belinda. "My dear, you start."</p><p>Belinda took the pen. "Dipper or Stan?" she asked.</p><p>"Um—How about Mason? That's actually my real first name."</p><p>"So be it." In an aesthetic copperplate handwriting, she wrote on the title page</p><hr/><p>
  <em>To Mason—May your adventures in Gravity Falls always end happily ever after! All best wishes from your fellow writer—Grahame</em>
</p><hr/><p>She passed the book to her husband, who finished the name —<em>Gartner, at ComicsCon, 9/21/18</em></p><p>"Let that dry before you close the book," he advised.</p><p>"Thanks," Dipper said. "The handwriting matches!"</p><p>"We had to create a special style for Grahame," Belinda said. "Wayne found an old textbook on penmanship—they used to teach that, you know—and we liked the copperplate script. Now it would take an expert to say whether he or I autographed any given book."</p><p>"I think if I set out to be a forger," Wayne said, "I could create a mock Charles Dickens manuscript!"</p><p>"Here, let's add something," Belinda said. "Dipper, you're sworn to secrecy, mind." Under the inscription, she added, <em>Given to Dipper Pines by Belinda Southern</em> and passed it back to Wayne, who added, <em>and Wayne Southern</em>. This time their penmanship was different. "That's the way we write when we're not Grahame," Wayne said, capping his pen.</p><p>"I won't tell anyone who Belinda and Wayne are," Dipper said. "Thanks—and I'm honored."</p><p>"Stay humble, young man," Wayne advised.</p><p>"And sincerity counts when you deal with your fans," Belinda said.</p><p>"So learn to fake that and you've got it made," Wayne finished.</p><p>It was probably a joke the two had used dozens of times, but it still put Dipper in a great mood.</p><p>Of course, that was early in the morning. He didn't have any way of knowing what was waiting to pounce a little later on.</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Meet the Fans!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 21, 2018)</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>8-Meet the Fans!</strong>
</p><p>Dipper saw a presentation on the new SF and fantasy shows for the coming network and cable season. He squeezed in—it was a huge theater, the same one where <em>Granite Rapids </em>would premiere. The screen showed about thirty-five minutes of trailers and sneak scenes from new shows, but for him the high point was the cold opening for a new cartoon series.</p><p>The Ditzney logo appeared, and then faded into a summer scene. A voice-over cut in on a family picnic, Dad at the grill, Mom and kids at a wooden table in a bucolic scene:</p>
<hr/><p>"Summer! No school! A time to kick back, relax, and take it easy! Cookouts! Outdoor games! Swimming! Nonstop fun! Everyone looks forward to summer!"</p>
<hr/><p><em>Man</em>, Dipper thought, <em>wish I'd sounded that mature when I was twelve!</em></p><p>Crash! A golf cart with a driver and a passenger burst through a billboard, jounced from a cliff to a forest trail, and behind it lumbered a gigantic form seen only in silhouette. The camera caught the two kids, a boy driver and a girl passenger, in the lurching golf cart when the voice-over continued:</p><p>"Unless you're me. My name is Tripper. The girl sitting beside me and trying not to puke is my twin sister, Alexia.</p><p>"You're probably wondering why we're racing through the woods in a golf cart, fleeing from an unimaginable horror. Rest assured, there is a simple explanation."</p>
<hr/><p>A cheer went up. Dipper found himself grinning like an idiot. Most of the words were his words, edited a bit to conform to the visual medium of the cartoon. The Tripper and Alexia on screen were reasonable interpretations of the characters on the book jackets, and when the titles began, the theme song, a pulsing instrumental on piano, flute pennywhistle, ocarina, and clarinet—and another he couldn't identify, plus rhythmic handclaps as the percussion—accompanied a montage.</p><p>In quick shots: The Mystery Manor, no mansion but a ramshackle house clearly based on photos of the Shack Dipper had sent to his publisher, with Grandy Manny standing in front, wearing his fez and a grin. Snippets of the twins getting off the Rapid Rodent bus, Alexia in one of her trademark rainbow sweaters and Tripper—Dipper shivered—wearing a brown trucker's hat, just like in his book.</p><p>The montage continued: A tour through the mystery museum. Then character intros. Tripper, exploring a cave and confronting a skull. Alexia, showing off an electric sweater. Manny, fleeing with the cash register shedding bills like autumn leaves. Moose puttering along in a golf cart. Willow, lazing at the counter in the Shack—er, Manor. Then all of them together round a campfire listening as Manny told a ghost story, and then a wonderful mock postcard from Granite Rapids.</p><p>And the applause went on, with some voices yelling "More!" They had to pause the video, and one of the guys onstage—a panel of four—picked up a mike and said, "You Granite Rapids fans—the first episode debuts here in this room tomorrow! Be there, but right now, shut your yaps!"</p><p>And the cheering rose even louder.</p><p>Dipper couldn't stand it. He got up and tiptoed out of the room, leaned on the wall in the corridor, and felt as if he were going to laugh or cry, or both at the same time. Maybe his happiest moment had been when Wendy read the manuscript and really liked the first book—<em>Bride of the Zombie—</em>but this time was overwhelming. He couldn't even go back inside to see the preview of <em>Odder Items, </em>a net show he was eagerly anticipating.</p><p>Wendy had texted. Dipper texted back: <em>Need 2 take something to room. Meet outside main entrance?</em></p><p>And she replied, <em>2 min, dude</em></p><p>He pushed through the crush of people—the hallways were starting to have a funky aroma, like some of the gym dressing rooms Dipper had been in before and after track meets. He passed a teen-kid-sized trio in full prosthetic make-up, costumed people wearing oversized foam-rubber headpieces, representing Pherbius and Finn, with a big-headed, starry-eyed Elisabel. He waved at them. Hey, he was with the same company now!</p><p>He rode the escalator, spotted Wendy before he exited the building, and she grabbed his hand. <em>You look super happy, Dip!</em></p><p>—<em>Just saw the opening title and a short scene from the premiere show. It was great, and everyone liked it!</em></p><p>
  <em>Of course they did, dork. Back to the room?</em>
</p><p>—<em>I want to put the Frost and Flame book away. It's heavy to carry around!</em></p><p>
  <em>We're coming back here?</em>
</p><p>—<em>Yeah. If you don't want to go—</em></p><p>
  <em>Of course I want to go. I'll, like, feed off your joy! Bwah-ha-ha!</em>
</p><p>Dipper squeezed her hand. "Let's go, then, and hurry back."</p><p>They reached the crosswalk and stopped for a DON'T WALK sign. A blat of engines came from their right, and looking that way, Dipper saw three motorcycles heading their way, slowly—and behind them marched a strangely-dressed crew. At least one of the bikes had a sound system, playing a Japanese tune.</p><p>"What now?" Wendy asked, stepping back to let the parade pass by. "What are these guys, space samurai or something?</p><p>The three on bikes simultaneously thrust a left fist into the air and shouted, "Hen-ka sudu!" Or so it sounded.</p><p>"Yeah!" people in the crowd shouted, returning the fist-thrust.</p><p>Holding Wendy's hand, Dipper told her silently—<em>Kamen Runners!</em></p><p>
  <em>Doesn't help, dude.</em>
</p><p>—<em>Japanese show, been around for years. I caught up with it when a guy on my high-school track team lent me some DVDs. Uh-oh, Bravo's having trouble.</em></p><p>One of the marchers, younger than most of the others—well, slighter and shorter, since most of the others wore insect-themed armor—was in a white lab jacket. He had some technical device in his right hand, and he seemed to be trying to thrust it into the pocket of the jacket, without success.</p><p>"Like this!" Dipper called, dropping Wendy's hand to mime flipping a jacket back with his left while holstering the device with his right hand.</p><p>The kid nodded, repeated the action, and succeeded. Some of the others crowded around him, a sound effect blared out, Dipper glimpsed them taking the lab jacket off the boy, and when they moved almost balletically away, he wore armor like them—one must have clapped the helmet on as another deftly removed the jacket.</p><p>The helpers called out "Henshin!" and the onlookers applauded.</p><p>Taking Wendy's hand again, Dipper thought to her—<em>It's a complex franchise. I liked it, even though I couldn't understand all the backstory. It's had reboots and spinoff series like crazy. But the action's fun to watch, and the Runners are real badasses.</em></p><p>He felt Wendy's amusement. <em>I got a feeling that if you could get decked out like that, you'd be the baddest badass of them all!</em></p><p>—<em>Not as long as you're around, Magic Girl!</em></p><p>They took the side entrance and the shortcut to the express elevators, rode up to their floor, and stashed the book.</p><p>Dipper asked, "It's gonna be early, but want to have lunch in one of the hotel restaurants?"</p><p>"When do you have to show up for your stint at the table?"</p><p>"I told them twelve-thirty. If you want, we can go chow down in the green room. They have a make-your-own-sandwich table, and there's probably going to be veggies and things on the side."</p><p>"I'm game for that," Wendy said.</p>
<hr/><p>They touched bases by phone with Teek and Mabel, but they were doing fine on their own and had already decided to eat at Burger Bay, a short walk from the Convention Center. "We're in line," Mabel said. "You ought to check this out—they tell us the burgers are really good, and they have fish and chicken burgers, and it's got this great open seating area with a view of the bay, and sometimes gulls come in and try to steal your food! Lunch and a show!"</p><p>"We're gonna go with the green room spread," Wendy told her. "Catch you later!"</p><p>They checked out the autograph row at the convention—huge lines for some actors in SF series, a couple of writers with smaller—but still sizable—lines. "I guess I'll be here for my official sessions," Dipper said. "I hope I won't be humiliated."</p><p>"We'll have Mabes round up customers," Wendy suggested. "You won't be able to handle the crowd then!"</p><p>The green room was pretty well packed though it was a bit early for lunch. Wendy found a couple of spaces at a table and held them down while Dipper did the culinary honors—he built them both double-decker club sandwiches with turkey breast, bacon, tomatoes, and crisp romaine lettuce, dressed with mayo and sprinkled with salt and pepper. He scored a couple of bags of potato chips—barbecue for him, salt and vinegar for Wendy—and added a half-dozen sweet, pickled gherkins to the big paper plate. He took it over to Wendy and then went back for drinks, water for him, a cola for Wendy.</p><p>"Lots of people here," a fortyish woman at the table said as he handed Wendy her drink and sat down.</p><p>"I feel out of place," Dipper said. He sneaked a look at her pro badge and then gasped out, "Corine Wallis! I love your Time Voyagers series!"</p><p>"Thanks." She reached over and turned his badge so she could read it. "Stan X. Mason. I don't know what you do."</p><p>"He's a writer," Wendy said from Dipper's other side. "YA humorous fantasy."</p><p>"Oh, Wendy," Dipper said. "Miss Wallis, this is my wife, Wendy. Wendy, Corine writes those hilarious time-travel books! I must have a dozen!"</p><p>"There are fourteen titles," Corine said with a grin. "After you finish eating, go buy the other two! Go on, eat, but in between bites, tell me about your books. I love humor in SF and fantasy."</p><p>So Wendy and Dipper alternated in telling her about Granite Rapids. She nodded. "Oh! I've seen the posters around. Congratulations on the TV sale! My agent's been shopping the Time Voyagers around to movie and television people forever without much success. Twice studios took a one-year option on the series, but both times they let it lapse."</p><p>"Option?" Wendy asked.</p><p>Corine nodded. "A small down payment, locks in the audio/video rights on a work for, usually, one year. For like five thousand dollars, the author agrees that no other studio can get a crack at the book until the first studio either exercises the option and signs a contract to produce the movie or whatever or until the option lapses."</p><p>"I don't understand why nobody's made a TV show or movie," Dipper said. "It's a really fun series. My favorite is the sixth one, <em>What Happened to the Dog?"</em></p><p>"What did happen?" Wendy asked.</p><p>"Nothing," Corine said. "There's no dog in that book!"</p><p>"But there might have been, because the three Voyagers changed history slightly," Dipper said. "I won't say any more. I've got the book, and you have to read it!"</p><p>"Let her buy her own copy," Corine said.</p><p>Wendy narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. "You're not by any chance related to a guy named Stanley Pines, are you?"</p>
<hr/><p>Dipper reported to the Ditzney Granite Rapids stall at 12:30 and was surprised to discover that they'd set up a sort of booth-within-a-booth with a big MEET THE AUTHOR sign on the back, a table with stacks of his hardcover and paperback books, and a tent-fold sign that identified him as STAN MASON. D.D. said, "Gotta get a photo!"</p><p>Mabel and Teek showed up, and Dipper said, "Everybody in for a picture!" They posed and D.D. took several shots (later Mabel selected the one in which Teek was doing the bunny-ears gag over her head as her favorite). People passing by paused to see what was going on—guy in a Ditzney tour jacket taking photos of somebody who must therefore be important—and as soon as the photo shoot ended, Dipper began to sign books.</p><p>Ditzney had bought a stack and was handing them out as freebies! Which meant the demand was high. Mabel and Teek went on their way, but Wendy sat next to Dipper and helped out with the books, taking requests from the people who wanted one (one to a customer!) and opening the selected book to the title page for Dipper's "Stan Mason" signature.</p><p>Dipper took a few seconds to converse with each fan: "Hey, what's your favorite sport?" he'd ask of an athletic-looking guy.</p><p>If the answer was "Soccer" and the guy's name was Joe, he'd personalize the autograph a bit:</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>To Joe, at ComicsCon—keep scoring those goals!—Stan Mason</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>He got lots of thanks for that. Then a couple of the Kamen Runners showed up. "We saw what you did!" one of them said. "You a Runner?"</p><p>"More of a fan," Dipper said. "Saber, right? That's a super-authentic Driver."</p><p>The cosplayer drew his Kaen Seiken sword. "A buddy crafted it for me. Want to try it?"</p><p>Grinning, Dipper stood up. "I'd be honored!" He took the weapon, made sure he had room, and said in a dramatic voice, "This isn't the first time I've wielded a Fire Sword!"</p><p>He executed the deft sword maneuvers, presented, and said Saber's catch-phrase: "I will decide how this story ends!"</p><p>The two cosplayers applauded, Dipper returned the sword, saying "Thank you, Touma!"</p><p>Each of the guys took a book—the first one, <em>Bride of the Zombie</em>—and in ten minutes about a dozen other Kamen Runners showed up to ask for books and give him their official blessing as a fellow Runner.</p><p>Dipper slightly overstayed his time, then excused himself but told the six people still in line that if they'd pick up their books and follow him, he had to get to a panel, but would sign on the way—or they could come to his next autographing tomorrow on Autograph Row, bringing the books with them.</p><p>He and Wendy left, on their way to the YA panel, and nearly got out of the Exhibitors' Hall, when a couple of Pony Girls, one deep purple, the other one the girl who had, um, glomped him—glomped him again. "EEEEE!" the purple one squeaked. "Picture, picture, picture!"</p><p>A third girl, not in costume, raised her phone, and the girls hugged Dipper, one on each side, each one kissing a cheek. "It's you, it's you, it's really really you!" the purple one said. "Oh my God, I've got something for you!" She dug into a purse designed to look like a packsaddle and pulled out a photocopied manuscript. "Please please please read it! Hi, I'm Midnight Twinkle! This is Rainbow Flash! Oh, my God, oh my God!"</p><p>"Sorry, girls," Wendy said. "Gotta take him to his panel now!"</p><p>They had to maneuver deftly, but finally made their getaway. When they reached the panel room, the con staff at the door let them in, but kept the others out. "Seating ten minutes before the panel," one announced.</p><p>Dipper was the first to reach the panel's table up front. He sat on the right end. Wendy asked, "What did she give you?"</p><p>Dipper unfolded the slightly rumpled manuscript, about thirty pages long, word-processed, and stapled in the upper left corner.</p><p>"Oh, boy," he said. He read the title aloud:</p><p>FRIENDSHP IS PASSION</p><p>A TRIPTWINK STORY</p><p>"Oh, Dude!" Wendy said, reading the opening paragraphs over his shoulder:</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Midnight Twinkle did not mean to go thru the wrong portal but she did and instead of finding herself in Ponyland Mountains, she imerged on a strange planet. The first person she saw was a human boy about 15 years old, brown hair and eyes and wearing a blue vest red shirt and shorts. He took one look at her, Wow you are a beautiful girl!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then Midnight Twinkle looked down at herself, somehow her "trip" thru the portal had change her, she was no longer a pony but had taken on the shape of a human girl with beautiful breast and shapely butt and legs, except her beautiful purple color was still there and she still had her magnificent blue swishy pony tail and golden alicorn horn oh and also she was naked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the boy hand her his vest so she could cover her shaply new boobs, which she new were exiting him! So he said, Hi, I'm Tripper Palms and excuse me but I would like to kiss you all over—</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>"Fanfiction!" Tripper groaned.</p><p>Wendy put her hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations, Dip. You've got your own fangirls and guys and evidently a horse is in love with you. You have arrived!"</p>
<hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Sturgeon's Law</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry for the lag in updates. I haven't been sick, but my laptop--last year's Christmas gift, and still under warranty--bit the dust and is in at the shop for repair. I have a tablet but cannot stand typing a story with one finger. But we did not toss out my ten-year-old laptop, so I hauled it out and revived it. It is way out of date, and I'm no longer used to the version of Windows ('98) and Word it uses, but despite its being slow and creaky, at least I can write on it. Meanwhile, the repair folks say that my new computer ought to be healed and back in my hands by November 30th.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 21-22, 2018)</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>9-Sturgeon's Law</strong>
</p><p>Dipper tucked the fanfiction story into his backpack, down at his feet, as the other panelists showed up.</p><p>Jayne Breene, in her mid-thirties and wearing her blonde hair in a butch cut, was first. She greeted Dipper with "And you're replacing Lacey, right?"</p><p>"Yes," Dipper answered. "She's busy and on deadline, so my editor asked me to sub for her. I hope that's OK?"</p><p>Jayne put a stack of <em>Kitty Hart</em> books on the table and then sat behind them. "It's fine with me," she said. "How are you with trans people?"</p><p>"Uh—I'm fine," Dipper said. "I didn't know—"</p><p>"Born a theoretical male, but really a woman inside," she said cheerfully. "I transitioned about ten years ago and started writing my first Kitty Hart book in the hospital. Kitty's sort of a self-portrait—twelve in the first book and very confused because she doesn't feel like a real male."</p><p>"I haven't read them," Dipper said. "But I will. I've got a couple of gay characters in my books, but so far that's not obvious—just hints." He and his editor had been going round about the relationship between the Chief of Police of Granite Rapids, Damon Dubbs, and his not-too-bright deputy, Henry Hunny.</p><p>"Here's Darnell!" Jayne said, waving.</p><p>A professorial-looking guy in his forties, with a neatly trimmed beard and wearing a tweed jacket with, yes, leather elbow patches, waved back cheerfully. "Who's missing?" he asked as he sat on the far side of Jayne.</p><p>"Catherine Quayle," Dipper said.</p><p>"Ah, then she's the moderator," Darnell Warren said in a satisfied tone as he put three of his own books on display.</p><p>Wendy came up. "Here you go, Dip," she said, standing up hardcovers of <em>Bride of the Zombie</em>, <em>It Lurked in the Lake</em>, and <em>An Inconvenient Spook</em>. "If you want, I'll go get the newest one."</p><p>"This is OK. Thanks, Wendy. Oh, this is my wife, Wendy, and I'm Stan Mason. Wendy, Jayne Breene is next to me here, and that's Darnell Warren."</p><p>"Hi," they both said, and then with a quizzical look, Jayne asked, "Did your wife just call you 'Dip?'"</p><p>Sighing, Dipper pushed his hair off his forehead. "My nickname, because of my birthmark. Dipper."</p><p>Wendy leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I love it," she said. "Good to meet you!"</p><p>She sat on the end of the front row of seats. Just then a frazzled-looking woman with long, stringy, gray-streaked black hair, huge glasses, and wearing a floor-length black dress , came hustling down the aisle. "Sorry, sorry, sorry! I nearly forgot the time!"</p><p>"Ladies and gentleman, the late Catty Quayle! Catty, you get to moderate!"</p><p>"Oh, thanks so much," She said, almost out of breath. She put up a couple of Haunted Trails books in front of her. "I know Darrel and Jayne, so you must be . . . um." She adjusted her large round spectacles and squinted.</p><p>"Stan Mason," Dipper said.</p><p>"But you can call him Dipper," Darnell put in. "And by the way, Catty, it's 'Darnell.' Don't forget the N."</p><p>"Mind like a sieve," Catherine said. She sat and put a legal pad on the table in front of her. "Let me make sure I know all your names. Stan—or Dipper?"</p><p>"Stan for the panel, Dipper for ordinary times," he said.</p><p>"And Jayne, of course, I know, and Darnell with an N. All right, first of all I'll ask each of you to introduce yourself to the audience and mention a few titles you've written. Then I'll toss in a few questions. Please, no one monopolize the discussion—Darnell—and when we have twenty minutes left, we'll take questions from the audience."</p><p>The doors opened, and attendees came sprinting in, hurrying to claim primo seats.</p><p>Darnell leaned toward Dipper and said, "Oh, I just made the connection—you're the Granite Rapids guy! Congratulations on the TV series! Who's your agent?"</p><p>"Bea Bergeron," Dipper said.</p><p>"Mind giving me her contact info after the panel?"</p><p>"Sure," Dipper said.</p><p>"I'm looking for representation," Darnell explained. "My present agent isn't doing enough for my Henry the Hero series."</p><p>A con staffer brought up four glasses and a pitcher of ice water. The room wasn't nearly as large as the theater—but before long every seat was packed and a couple of dozen people were standing against the back wall.</p><p>Jayne stood up and speaking into the hand microphone that had been on a stand in front of her, she said, "Hi! There are three seats in the third row on this side. Let me see. Are those two saved there? They are? OK, how about back in the fifth row on the right? Two seats together there! Anyone sitting next to a vacant seat, raise your hand!"</p><p>Even after that, more than twelve people still stood against the back wall. Jayne sat down and said, "Madame moderator, let's get this party started."</p><p>Catherine Quayle spoke into her own microphone: "Good afternoon, everyone! Are you enjoying ComicsCon so far?"</p><p>The audience chorused agreement that they were, indeed.</p><p>"Well, let's see if you're in the right place. This is the Young Adult Fantasy panel, and our topic is 'Is Fantasy Good for Kids?' Anybody need to leave? No? All right, let's introduce our panelists, and we'll start down on my left with Stan Mason. Tell us about yourself, Stan."</p><p>"Hi," Dipper said. Then he realized his mike was switched off and turned it on. "Hi. That's better. I'm Stan Mason, and I write the Granite Rapids books."</p><p>To his surprise, about a quarter of the audience cheered. "Thanks for that! If you're a fan, be sure to come to the theater tomorrow for the grand debut of the first episode of the new series. My wife Wendy is with me. Stand up, Wen! There she is."</p><p>He had not expected wolf-whistles, but he heard them. "And to my right is Jayne Breene. Jayne?"</p><p>"Thanks, Stan. Hi, everyone, I'm Jayne Breene, and I write about Kitty Hart—and the ninth book is on sale in the Exhibitors' Hall. You guys know the series?"</p><p>The audience vociferously affirmed that they did. "Good. I'll be glad to answer any questions you have about them. Over to Darnell Warren."</p><p>"Hi," Darnell said. "This is a really old crowd! I'd guess the median age at about eighteen. But when you were younger, did any of you read about Henry the Hero?"</p><p>Again, most of the audience had, and someone yell, "Hell, I still read 'em!"</p><p>"Thank you, aged sir!" Darnell said. "So you all have some idea of the kind of fantasy I write. I have to say I'm pleased with the good company here at the table. The science-fiction writer Ted Sturgeon created Sturgeon's Law: 'Ninety per cent of everything is crap!' We at the table represent the other ten per cent of fantasy writers! Now back to our moderator, the witchy Catherine Quayle."</p><p>"Thanks, Darnell. And you probably know Haunted Trails. The new book, <em>Unhappy Haunts</em>, will be officially published next month, but if you go by the publisher's booth, there are about fifty advance copies already available. And now to our first question—Why do you write fantasy? Who wants to go first?"</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>From the Journals of Dipper Pines: </strong>
  <em>I said that first of all, a lot of the background stuff in the books was based on my and my sister's experiences and explained that we really did have a relative who ran a tourist trap and that we'd spent the summer there when we were twelve. I kind of lied, I guess, about the supernatural stuff not being real in the same way. But I did say that I thought the best fantasies were those that had a believable surface and added a lively imagination to that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The panel mostly agreed that fantasy fiction was good, not bad, for readers—like you'd expect, I guess—because it stimulates their imaginations and fires their curiosity. And Jayne said something that struck me as true: "It's a genre in which readers who feel displaced or marginalized can discover characters similar to themselves who have lived through the same kind of troubles and trauma. I think a great part of fantasy is assuring uncertain, anxious readers that they're not really alone."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We got some questions from the audience. One to me: "Is that beautiful woman really your wife?"</em>
</p><p>"<em>She really is."</em></p><p>"<em>No wonder the Granite Rapids books have a great character like Willow!"</em></p><p>
  <em>And then someone asked, "Hey, is Willow going to marry Tripper?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I smiled and said, "He wishes! But I guess time will tell. I haven't written that far yet!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When the panel wrapped up, some con staffers walked us to Autograph Row, where they'd arranged a long table for the four of us, and we signed books for an hour. The others had longer lines, but then they've all been writing for years. I can't complain, though, because a stream of book buyers came to my place, lots of them with all four of my books. And nearly every one of them wanted a photo with me for some reason, so Wendy patiently took their cameras or their phones and snapped the pictures for them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>After an hour of this my hand was tired, but then the con staff moved us out so some others could come take our places. By then it was past four o'clock. Wen and I went to an artists' panel—they were all so talented! Then we walked through the exhibitor's hall, but I kept getting waylaid by Granite Falls, or Precious Pony, or Kamen Runners fans. Twice I had to explain to fans that I would not sign boobs. And one of them was a guy. . . .</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something that strikes me about these fans. For the most part, they are incredibly tolerant of differences. Race, creed, color, age, sexual orientation, none of these seem to strike them as something to be unpleasant about. Man, if fantasy fans ran the world, things would be much more pleasant for everyone!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then at six-thirty, Wen and I returned to the hotel to shower and change clothes. The Ditzney folks, including Alan, were taking us all out to dinner. And D.D. had advised us "Dress up—casual but elegant."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I didn't know what that meant, but for me, with Mabel's advice, it turned out to be my jacket, dark trousers, and a black turtleneck. It reminded me of the time when the GIB briefly detained us all and gave us all color-coded turtlenecks to wear!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyhow, Wendy looked stunning in a dark green pants suit. Mabel and Teek more or less matched in navy-blue outfits. And, thank God, the restaurant they took us to had other diners much more casual, and a few much more formal, than we were, so nobody paid us much attention. It was La Belle Parisienne, and Alan and his fiancée Amelia helped Mabel pick out her food.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wen and I had—I don't remember! It was good—not like the ninety per cent in Sturgeon's Law. But exactly what we ate escapes my memory because three of the other guests were Kristie Chelle, Jackson Rhett, and Lydia Corelli, the voice actors for Alexia, Tripper, and Willow! They were so much fun. I don't think I said very much, but listening to them was fascinating.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When Jackson asked me, "Do I sound the way Tripper's supposed to?" I told him, "You sound better than I even imagined. I like that he's not as squeaky-voiced as I was at that age!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you know the best part? He came in wearing a nice semi-formal outfit, a white dinner jacket and a black bow tie—and a pine-tree hat just like mine, except the blue is darker!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And all three of them—well, they get it. Their voices are perfect. They bring the magic to the characters' personalities, and now I'm thinking that this show is going to be very, very popular.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We celebrated with more champagne, but Teek kept Mabel to two glasses, and Wendy and I stopped there, too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>However, a little champagne evidently relaxes us a lot. We had a private dining room, and after the meal and after about three different dessert courses, we hung out and talked until after midnight!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then finally Alan, like the papa of the group, said, "This is fun, but we've got a show tomorrow!" So a stretch limo took us back to the hotel, and we said our good nights in the lobby.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wendy and I took the express elevator, and five seconds after we got to our room, she and I were in bed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And a good time was had by all.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. In a Whirl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Cons and Pros</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>(June 22-25, 2018)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>10-In a Whirl</strong>
</p><p>Watching the preview episode of <em>Granite Rapids, </em>Dipper realized how Mabel felt when flying. He had to ride out waves of anxious nausea. It helped that Wendy sat beside him, holding his hand, sending him waves of reassurance.</p><p>Stripped of commercials, the show ran only twenty-two minutes. Twenty-two awfully long minutes, as Dipper squirmed and wondered if the audience would cheer or boo. The episode covered the first third of his first book and ended with Tripper discovering Secret Journal 3 and an end title reading "To be continued." The audience—a whole theater full—applauded enthusiastically at the end, and when Alan said, "Let's go face the firing squad," Dipper rose from his seat and followed the director up a few steps to the stage.</p><p>The big screen rolled silently upward as the show staff—Alan Kirsch, the director, Jean Tawney, a storyboard artist, Mickie Steenly, a writer, voice actors Kristie Chelle, Jackson Rhett, and Lydia Corelli, and last and feeling least Dipper—wearing his own pine-tree trucker's hat—sat in chairs on the stage as a disembodied voice from the projection booth identified them. Alan stood, microphone in hand, and thanked the audience for their reaction. "So," he finished, "big question now, think hard—did you like it?"</p><p>A wave of cheers rolled over them and lifted Dipper's spirits. When it died down, a lone voice far at the back called out, "Boo!"</p><p>Alan shrugged. "I agree with you, but who are we two against so many?"</p><p>The same voice yelled, "Just kidding! It was great!"</p><p>"OK," Alan said. "Here we are, ready to answer your questions. We've got six microphones set up in the aisles—staff, wave so everyone can see where the mikes are—and we'll take as many as we have time for. Let's start with the far-left mike and we'll work our way right and then down forward. What's your name, and what's your question, sir?"</p><p>"I'm Tony Fulton, and I'm from Oklahoma, and I wanted to know why didn't Tripper have a kid's voice?"</p><p>Jackson, Tripper's voice actor, fielded that one: "Because I got the job! Seriously, Tony, I loved the books. I've worked with Alan once before and I went to him and begged for the chance. He doesn't even charge me very much! Anyway, in my head I've always heard Tripper as sounding mature for a twelve-year-old. I hope I'm not too far off! Hey, Stan, how'd I do?"</p><p>Dipper held up his own microphone and said, "Seriously, Jackson, from now on I'll hear your voice whenever I write Tripper's dialogue!"</p><p>Next question: "When's it gonna be on TV? And is Ditzney gonna make us wait six months between episodes?"</p><p>Alan: "Not with this show. The first nine episodes are in the can, and they'll play one week apart. Then there'll be a month hiatus and the next nine will be ready to go."</p><p>A girl from Idaho asked how many episodes would there be per book. Mickie, a young woman not much older than Dipper, said, "Three per book, so far. In between, we'll have unwritten adventures—those not covered in Stan's books. There's always something weird going on in Granite Rapids."</p><p>Not a question, but a statement from a teen-ager whose glasses made his eyes look huge: "I love all the cryptograms in the show! There's always at least one per book. Are there going to be more in the series?"</p><p>Oh, yes, definitely. "More than you'll be able to spot!" Alan promised. "I always loved codes and ciphers, and you can expect them to play a really big role."</p><p>A girl from California: "Alexia is, like, my favorite character. You can probably tell." She was wearing a shooting-star sweater. "So, like, this is for Kristie? How do you nail her personality so well?"</p><p>Kirstie said, "Well, she's kind of a loveable ditz, and so am I! I fell in love with her when I first read the script. Hey, Stan, is the real Alexia here?"</p><p>"Right there in the front row," Dipper said. "Folks, meet my inspiration for Alexia, my twin sister Mavis!"</p><p>Mavis stood up, spread her arms wide—and her sweater lit up with twinkling lights. "Thank you, everyone!" she yelled. "And don't believe everything my doofus brother writes about me!"</p><p>And so it went. If Dipper's autograph line the day before had been manageable, this time he was almost overwhelmed. Jan herself hauled in more books—these were for sale, though at a convention discount—and told him, "We may have to have a shipment expressed in so we'll have the weekend covered!"</p><p>One reason was that people who got his autograph also wanted those of Alan and the voice actors. The books became works of art as Alan sketched in funny doodled drawings of the characters. And Dipper found it so hectic that it was hard for him to remember the names of the book buyers—but Wendy solved that by scaring up a pad of Post-It notes and having each person in line write his or her name down—"So he can spell it correctly," she would explain, and that saved Dipper's neck more than once.</p><p>Later, recuperating in the green room, Dipper and Kristie sat on one of the sofas, and she told him, "I think it's great the way you add a little personal note to each autograph."</p><p>"Well," he said, "They're doing me a favor by buying my books. That's the least I can do. But I have to admit, after about a hundred my brain dries up, and I wind up writing 'To Bob at ComicsCon 2018, from a fellow SF fan" or something like that."</p><p>Jackson, with a paper plate loaded with brownies and cookies, sat next to Kristie and offered them a snack. "I was just talking to Mabel. She makes it sound like your books are inspired by your own lives. True?"</p><p>"Well, yeah," Dipper said. "The Palms characters are a lot like us Pineses, and we have a great-uncle who's a lot like Manny. And Willow is Wendy, and there's even a Moose. His name's Soos."</p><p>"Zeus?" Jackson asked.</p><p>"Soos," Dipper corrected. "For Jesús. And a lot of the other characters are kind of caricatures of real-life people."</p><p>"Moose is crazy cool," Kristie said.</p><p>"Yeah, I was wondering who does his voice," Dipper said.</p><p>From behind him Alan spoke in the big guy's voice: "Dawg, that's, like me, or whatever!"</p><p>Dipper looked back at the director. "You do a great job!" he said. "You guys, if you ever get to Gravity Falls, you have to stop at the Mystery Shack."</p><p>"The artists told us you'd sent them photos of it!" Jackson said.</p><p>"Yes, to use as an inspiration for the tourist trap in the show. Great job on that," Dipper said. "Yeah, and if anything, the real Mystery Shack's even stranger than Mystery Manor in the show."</p><p>"I'm gonna take the whole staff on a road trip there," Alan said. "I'll be in touch to set up a date! We have a production lull in August. Who's up for it?"</p><p>The voice cast were, enthusiastically so.</p><p>"I don't think it'll disappoint you," Dipper said.</p><hr/><p>The rest of the day passed in a blur of activities. Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, and Teek went to three different presentations and got to play with a few real-life fake props from the Marvelous movies, including a magic war hammer ("Boo! Not heavy enough!" Mabel complained) and a Major American shield. They hobnobbed with actors from TV and the movies.</p><p>They deftly maneuvered away from a whole herd of pony girls. They met the voice actors from <em>Spongepants Squarebob. </em>They heard some filk singing—like folk singing, but for filks. Dipper collected about a dozen signed books. Wendy fended off about a dozen interested young men, and one old actor who kept calling her "My dear."</p><p>"It's gonna be weird to go back home after this," Mabel said late that night as, once again in the green room, they sat enjoying an after-dinner snack.</p><p>"I'm ready for it, though," Dipper said.</p><p>Wendy teased him: "C'mon, man, you're a big celebrity here!"</p><p>"I think I've had about enough of it," Dipper said. "All this—it kind of makes me feel unreal. Like I'm playing the part of Stan Mason. I don't know—all these fans trying to give me ideas for books. Or handing me fanfiction."</p><p>"I love the pony one!" Mabel said. "Only isn't bestiality sort of against the law?"</p><p>"The pony one gets too explicit for comfort," Dipper said.</p><p>Later, as they were preparing for bed, Wendy told him "I think you should read thepony fanfic. It's a hoot."</p><p>"It makes me self-conscious," Dipper said. "The Tripper in her story isn't much like my character Tripper in the books."</p><p>"Give the writer a break. She's just starting out. And I think the girl doesn't have too much experience with guys," Wendy said. "Nobody's 'eager manhood' is the size of Tripper's in her story!"</p><p>"Please," Dipper said, turning off the bedside lamp. "I didn't read that far, and I don't think I want to."</p><p>"Mm, well," Wendy said thoughtfully, "dude, you <em>do </em>have access to an enlarge and shrink ray—"</p><p>"I didn't know you had complaints!"</p><p>"I guess I don't. Not really. Mm. Not at all, actually. That's nice. . .."</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>From the Journals of Dipper Pines: </strong>
  <em>Monday, June 25-Back at the Shack, still sort of dazed, and way tired. The weekend is a blur. Bea called me from New York on Saturday to congratulate me on the sales—she'd checked with Brangwen, and they told her all the hardcovers they had sent for the convention were gone, and most of the paperbacks, too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can believe it. I have hand cramps from autographing. But already it's hard to remember what happened when—it all went by in a whirl.</em>
</p><p><em>On the flight back to Portland, we were talking about our favorite moments. Mabel's was getting two desserts at the French restaurant. That and meeting the stars of </em>Paranatural. <em>She has photos of her sitting on both their laps at once, and Teek's being a good sport about that. His was attending a session on special effects in the </em>Marvelous <em>movie franchise. He even bought a pricey book on practical and CGI movie effects and had the two authors, who had worked on the "Steel Guy," "Mighty Bulk," and "Major American" movies autograph it to him. He also scored a number of autographs from the actors we ran across.</em></p><p>
  <em>Wendy says the times she watched me on the stage, in the panels and so on, were her favorites. Mabel said, "Aww. Now you gotta be nice to her for the rest of the summer, Dipster!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mine? Mine was . . . I don't know. Finding out how much fans love the books and are going to love the show. Being loaded down with merch—Mabel's already setting up a corner of the Museum dedicated to "The Town that's Based on Gravity Falls."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Other highlights. Getting to pretend to be a big-shot writer, I guess, though that made me feel a little phony, too. receiving a whole raft of emails and texts that tell me my cover is blown. See, I didn't know that so much of the con would be live-streamed. Some guys on the college track team spotted me, including the coach's son. Some folks from Piedmont, too, and four from Gravity Falls. My secret is out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As Mabel said upon gaining a pig, "Everything is different now."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>However, Soos welcomed us when we returned, Tripper went into dog ecstasies when he came running up to us, Abuelita cooked us a delicious welcome-home dinner, and tomorrow—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tomorrow I'm not Stan X. Mason, boy writer, but Dipper Pines, check-out clerk. And Wendy is my manager, and Sis is the Vice-President of Promotions (she gave herself a new title) and Teek is the chef. Stan's going to play the role of Mr. Mystery and when we have down time he wants to discuss his political career—Tyler Cutebiker is tired of being the mayor and suggested to Stan that he run again, now that his criminal past has been more or less forgotten, and now that the folks in the county have come to him as a Justice of the Peace because he's so understanding and conducts such fun weddings.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stan's thinking about it. "Gotta consider all the angles," he says.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And Ford's a little concerned because something is happening at Crash Site Omega (the hill beneath which an alien craft has been buried for thirty million years). He doesn't think it's dangerous—yet. But some process is worrying him a little, and he's asked me to help him explore it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And so life goes on.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stan asked me if I'd want to go back next year. I guess I'll have to wait and see. Anything could happen—the TV show could be a bust, my book sales could tank, who knows. All in all, I had a good time, I think, because Mabel and Wendy did. I'd go back to please them. I may change my mind, though, because I agreed to do a book tour next December, when the new book is out. And one in the spring, too. Wendy's looking forward to that one. She's eager to visit New York.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Me—I don't know. Crowds and all. But if my Lumberjack Girl is happy, I'm happy. So—I guess I'll close the book on ComicsCon 2018. Thanks to everyone involved! Gratitude to the Fates for not having a werewolf infestation or a goblin attack or a major-league haunting erupt while we were there!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because, frankly, the reality was scary enough.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>The End</em>
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